Trick of Hearts
by DjinniFires
Summary: Cora's magic is powerful and dangerous; when she was young, she had a good teacher. Rumplestiltskin excels at manipulation and fears intimacy; he had a good teacher too. Before true love, there was Cora. * Fantasy Noir * Romantic Suspense * Angst * set long ago in Fairytale Land ***New*** Chapter 6/20: "By the Side of a Woods." The Dark One discovers magic he never knew existed.
1. The Miller Had a Beautiful Daughter

**_For those unfamiliar with Once Upon a Time... while this story relies heavily on the original Brothers Grimm Rumpelstiltskin, don't picture their hobgoblin; instead, picture this sexy imp (Robert Carlyle in costume): tinyurl DOT com/a9qxtvz (replace "Dot" with punctuation)_**.

**_For those familiar with OUaT... this story was inspired by the haunting reunion between old Cora and Mr. Gold/Rumple in his pawnshop in "The Outsider." The first five chapters were posted before "The Miller's Daughter" with young Cora aired, so Trick of Hearts differs from canon. At the least, their past is less rushed than the scant 20 minutes OUaT afforded it. _**

* * *

_**Chapter 1**_

**The Miller Had a Beautiful Daughter**

The first thing Rumplestiltskin heard when he appeared in King Wilhelm's alcove was a tinkling lullaby. He waved a hand to dispel the swirls of purple mist that had accompanied his entrance. Then he twisted around to the source of the song. Across the tiny room, the gray-bearded king held open a music box. Inside, a revolving copper cylinder played a nursery rhyme Rumplestiltskin recalled from long ago.

As soon as Rumplestiltskin caught his eye, the king snapped the lid shut. Despite the dozens of ogre truces they'd concluded over the decades, Wilhelm reacted as if the sight of his visitor was a shock. The look on his face said, _Hideous._

_Happy to see you, too. _Rumplestiltskin fluttered his taloned fingers. "Do my ears deceive me? Was that 'Froggie Went A-Courtin'?"

King Wilhelm curved his hands protectively around the box. "I wouldn't know."

_Yes, you would, you ungracious snob_. Rumplestiltskin remembered Milah crooning the melody to their son Baelfire as he suckled at her breast. She'd been dead nearly two hundred years, but the simple old tune was impossible not to recognize.

Rumplestiltskin pointed to the curtain that separated the alcove from the great chamber. "I hear an ensemble playing. Without doubt, that's Luco Zephyri on the bassoon. He's a master of folk songs, is he not? I'm sure I won't be disturbing your company if I go and ask him." Besides the music, he could hear clattering porcelain and jangling silver. And was that roast chimera he smelled? He sighed.

The old king scowled. "Yes, that was 'Froggie Went A-Courtin'.' My mother used to play me the song when I was a boy. What does that have to do with the ogre truce?" Without taking his eyes off Rumplestiltskin, he placed the music box on the cabinet behind him.

Rumplestiltskin tipped his head from side to side. "Not a single thing." When he'd visited the local ogres for parley, they'd made him the guest of honor at a grand feast followed by a night of traditional drumming and howling. In the countless years he'd been dealing with them, no ogre tribe had ever neglected the niceties before getting down to business. Yet that was no reason to yearn for a bit of small talk with his fellow humans, was it?

Not that King Wilhelm knew he was—had been—human. Rumplestiltskin closed his eyes a moment. Then he shrugged. _No matter. _He flicked his wrist. A parchment appeared and unfurled from his hand.

The king grunted. "That's longer than last year's. I don't know why we bother with you as go-between."

"_Go-between?_" Rumplestiltskin narrowed his eyes. "I've been the sole ambassador of ogre truces for every realm in the Enchanted Forest since long before your sorry ancestor Wilfred murdered his monarch and usurped the throne of Wensumlea." Pivoting on the toe of his basilisk-skin boot, he pirouetted to the country reel lilting out of the great chamber. "If you've found another envoy who speaks the sixteen ogre tongues and dialects—or even one of them—then dismiss me. I have a thousand other deals I could be making instead."

When he spun close, the king grabbed the contract from his hand. Rumplestiltskin smiled. After another twirl, he shot a glance at the music box. A simple gold-leafed wooden cube, yet Wilhelm had seemed to treasure it.

The king stabbed his finger at an item halfway down the parchment scroll. "Two thousand and _three_ hundred sheep? In the past, we never agreed to more than two thousand and _one_ hundred."

Abruptly, Rumplestiltskin halted his dance. "You're lucky I reached_ that_ settlement after you broke last year's truce."

"Last year's? Whatever are you talking about?" King Wilhelm lifted his pointy aristocratic chin.

Rumplestiltskin splayed his fingers in the air. "The terms of the agreement were fairly specific: _no land use beyond the Taraval River_."

The king held out his hands. "A few trees were cut down. What did it hurt?"

"Everything. It dishonored the deal." Frustrated, Rumplestiltskin shook his head. How could he explain the problem in terms easy enough for a royal to understand?

He began gesturing, putting on a show. "This year it's tree chopping. Next year it's clearing away the stones. The year after that it's cultivation and another swath of hunting ground is gone forever. Deer, elk, and golden hinds require woods to thrive. If you _insist_ on depriving the ogres of wild game, then you _must_ provide domestic stock to replace it."

"If it's woods these beasts like, then maybe we should herd the lot of them into the Infinite Forest."

_Humans herding ogres?_ Rumplestiltskin sniggered. "Like to see you try, dearie."

The king harrumphed and returned to the contract.

_Maddening! _The more years Rumplestiltskin maintained the peace, the less everyone understood about why painstaking negotiations were necessary. Sometimes he was tempted to place his dealmaking on hiatus—spend the year at his spinning wheel, maybe plant a few rose bushes. After a thousand trampled villages, legions of squashed knights, and an entire populace screaming for royal blood, fools like King Wilhelm might realize the value of his services.

_But I'd miss visiting the ogres._

From the great chamber, Rumplestiltskin caught the clanking of brass goblets. Soon the happy dissonance of a couple of dozen drunken lords and ladies joining in a toasting song reached his ears. Picking up his dance, he hummed along.

The king shook the parchment. "Ninety barrels of yogurt! What use have ogres for that?"

Turning to the king, Rumplestiltskin raised his shoulders. "Skyrgámur likes the taste. And don't forget the bilberries."

The king growled. Then he strode across the little chamber to a corner desk. As Wilhelm retrieved a quill from a drawer, Rumplestiltskin spoke up.

"Not yet. You haven't heard _my_ part of the deal." He stepped over to the music box and lifted the lid. The tinkling strains of 'Froggie Went A-Courtin' resumed from where they'd left off. He glanced at the king. "My price is this."

The shock on King Wilhelm's face made Rumplestiltskin giggle. The old man began to stutter. "But—but I've collected a roomful of treasure next door for you to pick and choose. _Including_ music boxes. Pure gold. With mechanical jeweled birds. Multiple songs. Much—much finer than that old thing."

_And who did you collect those treasures from, I'd like to know._ "It's this little item or no deal." As the song ended and started again, Rumplestiltskin began swaying to it.

"But—but—but… it was my _mother's_. What _possible_ value could it have to you?"

"All the value in the world." Rumplestiltskin paused. "You could always try talking to the ogres yourself."

For a moment, the king glared. Then he muttered, "Dark One, you're a monster." He dipped the quill in ink and began scratching across the bottom of the contract.

_Monster? Takes one to know one, dearie. _Rumplestiltskin tucked the late queen mother's music box into the wide puffed sleeve of his bronze-colored shirt, vanishing it until he should want it again. "Sorry to have kept you from your guests. I think I smell cake."

* * *

Rumplestiltskin could recognize the sound of desperation.

He first caught the sobs when he left King Wilhelm's alcove. He tiptoed down the steep, winding back staircase, trying to listen. The further he descended, the more distinct the whimpering became. Not the sniveling of a lady-in-waiting whose suitor had strayed, nor the blubbering of a dowager whose corset no longer fit—the moaning he heard was a soul in despair.

He needed no other invitation.

Two stairs at a time, lower and lower, closer and closer he skipped until stopping before a heavy, oaken door. With a twist of his wrist, he sprang the padlock and lifted the bar. A wave of his hand, and he opened the door wide.

Inside the windowless chamber, a single tallow candle in a pewter holder illuminated a spinning wheel. On the stool beside it, huddled a young woman, head in hands, weeping. Her brunette hair fell over her face and cascaded into her lap. Behind her lay a heap of straw.

Rumplestiltskin hopped inside, cocked his head and cleared his throat. The crying continued. Then he snapped his fingers, and the door slammed shut, startling the woman into silence.

"Better," he said. "Wailing is for banshees." _Not that it does them any good, either._

She lifted her head and swept aside her hair, revealing the most beautiful face he'd seen in an age—refined chin, high cheekbones, generous mouth. Despite her sobbing, her skin wasn't red and puffy. Instead, it was a flawless almond color. Her tears hung at the corners of her long brown eyes like dew.

The sight of her startled Rumplestiltskin into silence—but only for a moment. "Don't be afraid of me, dear. You're in want of something. Maybe it's something I have."

The young woman—she couldn't have been more than twenty—gazed at him. Unlike the typical first reaction to seeing his reptilian complexion, her expression remained calm and unsurprised. "Alas, kind sir, you cannot help. I must spin this straw into gold, and I know not how. Only the Dark One has magic enough for this."

Rumplestiltskin grinned. _The Dark One? That's me. And spinning's my specialty. _He bent his knees and flourished his hand in his most courtly bow. "At your service."

"You can't be the Dark One. You're not fearsome and pitiless." Her lips trembled into a gentle smile. "Your skin sparkles like gold and your eyes are green like malachite. Your appearance is too… pleasing to be the Dark One."

_Oh, you flatterer. _Of course, he didn't believe her. Rumplestiltskin was no fool. And yet… no human had given him the courtesy of sweet-talk in longer than he could remember. At least, she didn't find him repellent. He exhaled slowly. Good thing the straw covered half the chamber. He was going to enjoy this labor very much. "Tell me your name, child. You know mine."

"Cora," she said. "I'm far from a child."

_No doubt there. _The full round breasts pushing up from her white laced bodice bore out the truth of that claim.

"Move your seat back, dear," he said, gesturing as he circled to her side of the spinning wheel. "I brought my own." In a puff of purple smoke, he produced the low cushioned stool that usually stood beside his own spinning wheel in his mountain fortress. He glanced at Cora. Her lips were parted in surprise and wonder. That was the best flattery of all.

When he skewed an eyebrow, Cora jumped up so quickly that she knocked over her seat. After he'd settled on his stool in a comfortable position for spinning, she up-righted hers. She'd barely moved it back at all.

Rumplestiltskin listened to himself breathing in, breathing out. Despite his intention to accomplish the task with little fuss, he couldn't. _I haven't set my price_. Without a deal in place, performing magic at another's behest felt like overturning the balance of the universe. Absurd, really, but he couldn't overcome his anxiety—even with a young woman as indisputably guileless as Cora. He clenched his hands so tightly that his talons dug into his palms.

He glanced at her sidelong. Putting on his drollest jester's voice, he asked, "What will you give me, dearie, to do it for you?"

Cora's eyebrows knitted together. "My necklace?" She touched a heart-shaped pendant nestled between her breasts.

Quickly, Rumplestiltskin looked back at the wheel. "Family heirloom, is it? Belonged to your granny? And her granny before her?" Exacting a personal keepsake might be the only way to ensure an equitable deal from the likes of King Wilhelm; he didn't want to deprive gentle Cora of something she cherished.

Cora rolled her eyes. "A baker's boy gave it to me—a dullard I find annoying. But the chain is silver, and the stone's a rather nice piece of rose quartz."

Rumplestiltskin relaxed. "The necklace it is. The deal is struck." With that, he twisted to study the straw. Silently, he conjured a wind to blow the blades in a steady stream into his hand as his other hand spun the spoked wheel. From there, he mentally coaxed the straw into fibers, twirled them through the orifice and past the hooks, wordlessly casting the spell that transformed the resulting thread into something precious.

When the first length of gold undulated off the fly wheel Cora reached out and squeezed his shoulder. "You're wonderful. Before King Wilhelm closed me up in here he said, 'All this must be spun into gold before morning, as you love your life.' As sure as we're sitting here side by side, you've saved me."

_Wilhelm. That monster. No wonder she was desperate. _"Your life could have been spared if I'd just walked out of the castle and neglected to bar the doors behind me. No need for a deal."

Cora's hand rested lightly on his shoulder. "Not unless you walked me and my parents out of the kingdom as well—and I don't think my father would be happy giving up his mill."

Rumplestiltskin continued spinning straw. "Ah, you're a miller's daughter. Then you have a fine dowry to go with your fine looks. I'd wager that necklace is just one treasure of many you've received from young hopefuls." He slanted a casual glance at her fingers. When he noticed a slender gold ring with a small stone that looked like garnet, his throat tightened. "Or is there only one?"

Cora shrugged. She took her hand away to rest it in her lap. "No suitors I find suitable. Merely a lot of fools."

Rumplestiltskin turned his face to hers. For all her innocence, her dark brown eyes held a keen intelligence. "And you do not suffer fools easily?"

"Oh, I don't mind fools." She looked aside, smiling softly. "My father's a fool but I love him. The last time the king hunted in the woods near the millstream, he asked for a flagon of ale. That's when my father made the silly claim I could spin gold out of straw."

Rumplestiltskin waggled his head as the golden thread piled up. "I'm well known for this trick. Curious that your father would pick that boast."

"Yes, curious." Cora's eyes widened. "And I don't even spin. My mother thought it a peasant's occupation. My domestic accomplishments are pastry making and embroidery."

Rumplestiltskin raised an eyebrow. "My business carries me to all corners of the Enchanted Forest. I'm seldom in the little realm of Wensumlea more than once a year. Fortunate I was here tonight."

Cora's hand returned to his shoulder, spreading warmth through his body like honey. "Fortunate, indeed. That's why I still can't believe you're the Dark One. Your magic is good magic. You have another name—a real name—don't you? Come on, admit it."

He blinked. Straw bunched up in his hand, and he had to slow the wheel. Bad enough that his physical age was more than twice that of young Cora—if he told her his given name she'd guess his real age was centuries older. And she'd know he'd been born a peasant. Even in his day, no man of accomplishments had been called Rumplestiltskin.

Once the wheel regained speed and the gold thread flowed again, he said, "You're right. But I bet you can't guess it."

"Timothy, Ichabod, Benjamin, Jeremiah?" Cora leaned toward him and smiled into his face. "Demosthenes, Erichthonius, Ted?"

He snickered. Cora's playfulness told him her desperation was gone. He, Rumplestiltskin, had banished it. In his most madcap voice, he replied, "Guess away, dearie. We have all night. Do you like roast chimera? Ale? And while I'm at it, I'll conjure us a cake."

* * *

Rumplestiltskin gazed down at the satisfying heap of golden thread. He winked at Cora. The windowless room robbed him of celestial clues to the time, but by the guttering candle, he deduced at least four hours remained until dawn.

Cora clasped his hands in hers and swung them back and forth like a child. "You did it! You're marvelous."

Rumplestiltskin's pulse quickened. He disentangled his fingers before his talons scratched her. "But in doing it, I've deprived you of your bed of straw. No matter. Let's see what can be done with this string." Strutting around the chamber, pointing and waving, he lifted the golden thread from the cold stone floor and strung it in the air, looping and weaving until he'd fashioned a hammock. "There, my dear. Yours shall be the most opulent bed in the castle tonight."

Cora hoisted herself onto the hammock, inadvertently bunching up her fluffy pink skirt and exposing her snowy petticoats. Her dainty feet dangled below.

Pressing his palms together, Rumplestiltskin said, "Well, then. I bid you good rest."

Cora tilted her head to one side. "Not until you collect your price." She reached under her luxurious dark hair to the nape of her neck. In a moment, she'd unclasped the necklace and extended it to him. The chain wound left, then right, twirling the pink heart pendant. "Take it. It's yours."

* * *

At Cora's request, Rumplestiltskin barred the door from the outside again. If the king suspected she'd had help, she feared the consequences. Then he departed in a puff of purple smoke.

He arrived atop a mountain peak. The full moon dawdled above the horizon, burnishing the mist that drifted from the forest a silver gray. He examined his fingers still tingling from Cora's touch. Odd, but she was the first person to take his hand since Baelfire had tried to pull him down Rheul Gorm's sinister whirlpool to the world without magic. On that tragic occasion—when he'd failed to yank his son back—he'd let go.

Of course, sweet Cora had meant nothing by reaching for him—at least not more than relief at fulfilling King Wilhelm's outrageous request. What had the grasping tyrant been thinking? How could he not know that only the Dark One could spin straw into gold? When Cora presented Wilhelm with the large pile of pure golden thread, the king would be staggered. The fool would believe the young lady had spun it herself.

Dipping into his sleeve, Rumplestiltskin retrieved the music box he'd acquired from that selfsame fool. He wound it up and let it play. Long after Milah had lost interest in such things as crooning to their child or holding him on her lap, Bae would sing "Froggie Went A-Courtin'" while he did his chores. Until tonight, Rumplestiltskin had forgotten how the melody went.

Over and over, then slower and slower, the nursery tune repeated. When at last the music box stopped, Rumplestiltskin took the necklace he'd bartered from Cora, secreted it inside, and closed the lid.

* * *

**Comments appreciated.**


	2. This King Was Fond of Money

_**Chapter 2**_

**This King Was Fond of Money**

At dawn, Rumplestiltskin returned to King Wilhelm's castle for the second day in a row. This time he wore his russet cloak of unnoticeability. When someone chanced to look at him, their gaze would slide off to the side. Whomever he approached would make way without speaking. Actually bumping into someone would bring, at most, a muttered beg-your-pardon.

Today the king would announce the allotments of livestock that would placate the ogres for another winter. Already the throng in front of the castle was so huge that it pushed back across the bridge that spanned the surrounding chasm. The talk that Rumplestiltskin heard as he glided through the crowd was disagreeable. Merchants, artisans, laborers—citizens from all walks of life—were complaining about ogre appeasement. As with any remedy that worked, people were wondering why they needed it.

_Simpletons. Does each generation need fresh carnage before they acknowledge the necessity of the Dark One's deals?_ Even after two hundred years, the horror of the Frontlands Massacres was still vivid in his mind—ogres crushing his neighbors in their hands, their heads popping off, their flesh oozing out like sausage meat.

And the only thing he'd asked for his troubles this year was a gold-leafed box that played a nursery song.

The closer Rumplestiltskin moved to the front, the more packed the assembly became. Yet people still wordlessly edged aside to let him pass. When no one stood between him and the royal dais except a row of archers, he stopped. The usual contingent of footmen, counselors, and minions had arranged themselves around the throne of Wensumlea. Princes three and four, Falfrey and Henry, sat in gilded chairs at its foot. Toward the back, he noticed a young woman bundled up in a midnight blue cloak. He required no second glance to recognize Cora's graceful figure. She appeared to be standing between two guards. As he stared, she abruptly pushed back her hood, releasing her deep brown hair to tumble over her shoulders.

Rumplestiltskin's mouth went dry.

Three horn-blowers clad in the emerald and ruby of King Wilhelm's house blew a fanfare. The king strutted onto the dais at a pace slow and stately enough to befit his high station. A pair of pageboys trailed him, lifting the hem of his heavy brocade robe. Everyone on the stage not of the royal family bowed or curtsied. Cora dipped particularly low, but she didn't drop her head.

In the square facing the stage, King Wilhelm's subjects fell to their knees. Rumplestiltskin did not. Without his cloak, he'd have had to answer to the monarch's guardsmen for his impudence—or make them answer to him—but his magic rendered him unobtrusive.

_Except to Cora_. With a shock, Rumplestiltskin realized she was gazing straight at him. Amidst the general populace, his cherished lack of bother depended on being overlooked. Yet somehow, she'd pierced his inconspicuousness. Did that mean his cloak no longer worked? Uneasily, he glanced around, assuring himself that for the masses, he might as well not exist. When he glanced back at Cora, her eyes widened in response. Did her ability to divine his presence mean she possessed a knack for magic?

Rumplestiltskin threw back his shoulders and lifted his chin.

King Wilhelm circled to the front of the dais and began ascending the steps to his throne. Rumplestiltskin's eyes remained locked on Cora's. Her despairing sobs of the night before echoed in his mind. Not meaning to, he lifted one hand. A twist of his wrist, and the king stumbled. When Wilhelm tried to catch himself, he stepped on his robes and toppled backwards. He landed on his rear end.

Everyone, both those on the stage and those packing the square, seemed to be struck dumb with surprise—except for Rumplestiltskin. He snickered uncontrollably. After all, the only person in the whole assembly who could hear him was Cora.

Then Rumplestiltskin saw her clamp her lips together. He stopped tittering, realizing he'd made a dreadful mistake. If any breath of amusement escaped Cora's mouth, she wouldn't just be locked in a room to spin. She'd be flogged.

Rumplestiltskin raised his hand again, directing his power at her mouth and throat, stifling all the subtle movements involved in laughter. For a moment, she looked disconcerted. He counted off the seconds until his spell lapsed. From her smile, he could see her urge to laugh had passed. He propped one hand on his hip and flourished the other. Pressing his heels together, he bent his knees. For Cora, he would bow.

Rumplestiltskin glanced at the servants attempting to prop up the fallen king. With each arm hugging a footman, Wilhelm managed to stand. But as soon as one of them stepped away, his ankle bent under him and down he went—again. Rumplestiltskin pressed a hand over his mouth to prevent another giggle fit. _This is going to take a while_, he thought.

* * *

At last, King Wilhelm turned over the morning's proclamations to his princely sons and allowed his retainers to trundle him off the stage. Striding to the front, third son Falfrey crooked a finger to allow the kneeling crowd to rise. _Finally_. Using the amplification horn Rumplestiltskin had conjured up for the last monarch of the previous house, Falfrey read out the allotments.

Every last one of them was a lie.

In each livestock category—cows, pigs, goats, sheep—numbers were exaggerated. The geese were doubled and the chickens tripled. "And," Falfrey concluded, "two hundred barrels of yogurt and seventy-five bushels of bilberries. Such are the provisions the Dark One commands us to give the ogres."

All around him, Rumplestiltskin heard complaints, gripes, and grumbles directed at the Dark One. Not only were people unhappy at the sacrifices asked of them—they speculated that talk of ogres was a dodge, that the livestock and so on were really being collected to appease him.

_This is truly too much_. He threw back his hood.

The people closest to him noticed him immediately. They cowered back, trembling. When a woman a few yards away screamed, Rumplestiltskin saw fear at his presence spread quickly. Scores of people backed into those behind them until a space had formed around him. Those with nowhere to go clapped their hands over their eyes as if not seeing him hid them as well.

At the foot of the dais, the royal archers raised their bows. From the way they were aiming, it seemed they didn't care whether some of their arrows hit King Wilhelm's loyal subjects so long as some also hit him. Rumplestiltskin rolled his eyes. Didn't they know he was invincible while Wensumlea's citizens were not? When the bowmen let loose, so did he—shooting balls of fire at the barrage that turned the arrows into ash. The people under them screamed.

_Yes, I just saved you from being skewered by your own defenders. You're welcome._

Before the archers could nock their next arrows, Rumplestiltskin mock-lunged at them, darting and stomping with his taloned fingers outstretched like an eagle ready to strike. At first, they quavered. Then he tossed back his head for a maniacal cackle, baring his decaying predatory teeth. Then they scattered. The field now his, he strutted forward and, in one great bound, leapt onto the stage.

As soon as Rumplestiltskin reached Falfrey, he could tell the prince had wet himself. The tall, well-built young man was using his father's copy of the lengthy ogre truce to hide the stain on his satin breeches.

Rumplestiltskin snorted a laugh. "The agreement, dearie." Without waiting for a response, he whisked the scroll from Falfrey's hand to his own. The prince looked down at the front of his white pants, clutched his scarlet cape around himself, and fled to his gilded seat.

Out the corner of his eye, Rumplestiltskin caught sight of Cora—hands clasped, lips parted, eyes sparkling. _She's enjoying my show_.

Cora's regard of him filled Rumplestiltskin with pride. He swaggered back and forth across the stage, holding the parchment at arm's length, inspecting the inflated numbers crudely added by King Wilhelm. With a puff of air, he blew the non-magical ink away. Snapping his fingers, he sailed the restored truce into Henry's hands, saying, "Your turn. Read it properly."

The prince, not more than twenty, looked the Dark One full in the face. Unlike his slightly older brother, fourth son Henry was not afraid of him. _Aha!_ Rumplestilstkin thought. _He remembers me_. When the prince had been a lad, they'd done a deal—a spell to keep Henry in his saddle during his first hunt in exchange for a magnifying glass. As with Cora, Rumplestiltskin had been attracted to the business opportunity by the sound of sobbing—a seven-year-old's desperation to be sure but desperation nonetheless.

Pointing ominously at the tousle-haired prince, Rumplestiltskin intoned, "Proclaim the correct allotments and attribute them to the ogres who requested them. I'll be watching." With that, he pulled up his hood and vanished, materializing again—inconspicuously—atop a nearby flagpole.

Rumplestiltskin listened to Henry recite his requests. "And," the prince said, "ninety barrels of yogurt and thirty bushels of bilberries. This is the _fair_ deal the Dark One has struck for us with the ogres."

Rumplestiltskin applauded. "Hear, hear."

But Henry wasn't finished. "The royal family will cover the entire allotment of sheep. Behold!" He gestured behind him, and Cora and her two guards walked to the front of the stage. Each of her guards carried a bag. Without preamble, they dumped out golden thread between Cora and Henry. The precious heap gleamed in the morning sun.

Across the square, citizens applauded and cheered. Looking back to the stage, Rumplestiltskin observed both Henry and Cora smiling.

_The royal family's generosity is all very fine and good_, he thought, _but they're contributing less than half of the treasure I spun for them. _

Rumplestiltskin saw Cora scan the crowd, then lift her chin as she scanned the walls. When her gaze reached his flagpole, she fastened her eyes on his and winked. Her acknowledgement pierced him with a shimmering light. In that instant, he felt as if she knew him down to the depths of his dark, rotting, misbegotten soul.

* * *

Rumplestiltskin waved away the purple fog that had accompanied his materialization in the main hall of his mountain fortress. To his surprise, two people stood by the massive granite fireplace waiting for him. As usual, the handsome young wizard Jeffery was wearing his oversized, portal-creating black top hat. His pretty wife Gwynneth was dressed in high-waisted green robes that flared in the front. Though he'd only met them a few months before, they were his closest—well, his only—friends in a century. Clasping his hands in delight, he scampered over to them. He clapped Jeffery's forearms for a greeting, then held out his hands to Gwynneth's growing belly. "May I?"

She smiled and touched the front of her dress in invitation. "He's awake. Traveling through a vortex makes him do somersaults."

Rumplestiltskin patted Gwynneth's abdomen and found a protuberance like a foot. He rested his fingers there until he felt a kick. "Ah!" He giggled. "A baby on the way. That's the most joyous magic imaginable."

Unexpectedly, Rumplestiltskin felt a catch in his throat. He backed up a step, folded his arms, and cocked his head. "Your visit is more than welcome. But is there an occasion?"

Jeffery held out a basket swathed in white linen. "Gwynnie made you lunch. She knows it's ogre negotiating season, and she's afraid you're missing meals."

Rumplestiltskin didn't let on that his merest inkling of hunger could call a lavish tray of food to his side. What he couldn't summon with magic was company, nor Gwynneth's homemade pecan tarts.

* * *

Rumplestiltskin looked from the fan of cards in his hand to the faces of his friends. This was turning out to be an entertaining day. Not only had Gwynneth and Jeffery stopped by for lunch, they'd stayed to play bridge as well. His friends were partnered with each other. He was partnered with a dog-faced puppet. Since he was the one who'd animated it and embedded its card-playing skills, he had no need to guess how Dogface would play a hand.

"I'm amazed at the spotlessness of this room," Gwynneth said, leading with the king of clubs. "And to think you have no servants."

Rumplestiltskin let his eyes drift over the sumptuous tapestries and cushions that furnished the north turret parlor. He laid down the nine card. "Nobody ever comes here to make it dirty. And if required, I can clean it by snapping my fingers. What would the servants do?" _Except maybe snoop out my secrets and betray me._

Jeffery took the trick with the ace. "Have you had time to think about what I asked?"

Rumplestiltskin arched an eyebrow. "You mean since the grapes and brie?" Why his friend was so anxious for his response to the Wizards Council's invitation, he didn't know. Had they made Jeffery their envoy? They'd done it before.

"They want to groom you for the highest circle. It's an honor."

"And make me sign a pledge—without first telling me everything I'd be pledging to." Rumplestiltskin dumped his five of hearts. "If there's one thing I've learned, it's never make a deal you don't understand." His partner took the trick. _Good work, Dogface_.

Jeffery let his hand droop. Rumplestiltskin could see the puppet's goggling eyes peeking at his cards. His friend didn't appear to notice—so intent was he on arguing on behalf of the Wizards Council. "But the tenets of that pledge—I thought you agreed with them."

"Many of them, yes. And if I agree, why would I require an oath to follow them? I already would never try to take over the Enchanted Forest—not even the smallest kingdom in it. Much too much bother." Rumplestiltskin demonstrated his abhorrence of such ambition by shuddering. "I probably _could_, but I wouldn't."

He saw his friends exchange a wide-eyed glance. He wasn't sure whether it was in reference to their game or what he'd just said. Then Jeffery played a completely wrong card and lost another trick to Dogface.

Gwynneth extended the queen of hearts, and Rumplestiltskin smiled. He laid down the ace. "Their tenets for handling threats are admirable: use the least harmful magic possible and avoid causing harm that cannot be undone." With regret, he recalled the cart-man he'd turned into a snail so many years before. If he hadn't proceeded to step on him—right in front of Bae—maybe his son wouldn't have gone looking for an alternative world, one without magic, one that would strip his father of his powers and leave him unexceptional once more.

Their game over, Gwynneth calculated the points for the tricks, the odd tricks, and the slams. "You win again—you and Dogface." She reached for the purse of coins hanging around her neck.

Rumplestiltskin lifted his eyebrows. "So we do." _I hope you're not just letting me._ At his insistence, they always played for copper pennies. He added his current winnings to his overflowing earthenware jar. "It's the tenets requiring consultation, permission, consensus that I don't like. Honoring those terms would be _tedious_." _No more tripping up obnoxious rulers if I commit to the Wizards Council deal. _"The tenet I absolutely can't accept is the last one. How can I agree to abide by _all and sundry precepts and dictates that shall be established hereinafter ad infinitum_?" When one was immortal the phrase _ad infinitum_ actually meant something.

Jeffery sighed. "Well, Sarastro asked me to mention their invitation to you, and I have."

Rumplestiltskin was surprised at how bleak Jeffery looked about the whole discussion. Clearly, Sarastro, self-proclaimed sorcerer of the sun, had asked him to do more than mention it. "It's not your fault, Jeffery. I'm just not a joiner. But aren't you the same? You haven't chosen to be inducted into the Wizards Council either." He caught his friends trading amused, affectionate glances. "What? What did I say?"

Smiling, Gwynneth leaned forward. "Oh, sweetie. You don't understand. The Wizards Council wants to groom _you_ for their circle because, well, you are what you are—awesomely powerful. They've never even asked Jeffery to join—"

"—and they never will," her husband completed her sentence. "It's because the only magic I do is link to portals with my hat. Your powers, for all you know, are limitless. I, on the other hand, am a one-trick wizard. Always have been, always will be."

Rumplestiltskin raised his eyebrows. "But what a trick it is! Travelling to any magical universe you choose! I can't do anything like _that_. Portal-hopping _is _my limit." In fact, portal-hopping was such an in-demand service, he was still waiting for his friend to find an opening to take him on his first trip. How else was he ever going to find his Baelfire and bring him back home?

Jeffery looked at him quizzically. "Thanks."

"And the thought that the Wizards Council would exclude someone I admire, well, it makes me _less_ interested in joining. Ungracious snobs—that's what they sound like to me."

Rumplestiltskin didn't mention what disturbed him most about the Wizards Council pledge: the provision compelling him to share the secrets of his magic with his newly designated brothers. They would be required to do the same, of course, but he suspected their secrets would not be half so momentous. Did any of them owe their powers to a mystical dagger? Were any of them invulnerable to all peril except said dagger? Could any of them rip out a person's beating heart without killing them and use the heart to control that person's words and deeds? Had any of them acquired and locked away the instructions for creating the darkest of all possible dark curses—one that could shatter their civilization and reconstruct it, twisted and malformed, in another land?

Rumplestiltskin shrugged. _I rather doubt it._

* * *

Alone that evening, Rumplestiltskin stood in front of his mirror donning clothes from his many wardrobes. He paused to examine himself in his gray sea serpent pants and jacket. The outfit was his first choice for dueling: absolutely form-fitting. But for tonight? _Too drab. _He snapped his fingers for another selection.

Usually, with realms as insignificant as Wensumlea, Rumplestiltskin needed less than a week to negotiate with the ogres, present to the local authority, and report back to the tribe. After discovering King Wilhelm's perfidy in inflating the ogre allotments and blaming the burden on the Dark One, he wasn't ready to dispense with this little monarchy so easily. From the morning's events, Rumplestiltskin understood one thing: _The king's greedy—too greedy for Cora's troubles to be over. I should have seen that all along._

Again Rumplestiltskin peered at his reflection. The black stymphalian feathers on his current combination made him look authoritative yet non-threatening. But then, the coat was too bulky for work. And tonight he'd definitely be spinning. He snapped his fingers.

Like all tyrants, the king hadn't bothered to make a deal—he'd merely issued a threat. _All this must be spun into gold before morning, as you love your life__! _Without mutually agreed upon terms, Wilhelm's demand for Cora's supposed magical services would be endless. More than likely, he'd lock her up with an even bigger haystack tonight.

What King Wilhelm didn't know was that Cora had made herself a powerful friend who wouldn't stand by and see her young life blighted that way.

With another snap of his fingers, Rumplestiltskin found himself in the bronze silk shirt and laced wyvern vest he'd worn the night before. Same clothing twice in a row would never do. He was about to signal for _next_, when he remembered to retrieve the music box from the sleeve. He gazed at it a moment, then wound it and opened the lid.

As he heard the familiar melody, he recalled Bae singing the words:

_Froggie went a-courtin' and he did ride  
His sword and scabbard by his side  
He went down to Miss Mousie's door  
Where he had often been before.  
He said, "Missy Mouse, are you within?"  
"Yes, kind sir, I sit and spin."_

Rumplestiltskin snapped his fingers then regarded himself in his coppery dragon-hide jacket with the gold-studded cuffs. _Yes. _With matching boots, soft griffin-skin pants, and ruffled gold shirt, he'd be both stylish and at ease for another night of spinning straw into gold.

* * *

**_For those familiar with OUaT: Jeffery the hatter wizard is Jefferson's father. _**

**_For those not familiar, Jeffery looks like his son, seen here in Rumplestiltskin's library (replace DOT with punctuation): _**tinyurl**DOT**com/a8rejsl

**__****To-die-for, isn't he? But not as attractive as Rumple.**


	3. Spun Into Gold Before Morning

_**Chapter 3**_

**Spun Into Gold Before Morning**

That night, Rumplestiltskin bypassed the barred door and, in his usual grand swirl of purple mist, appeared immediately in the windowless chamber. As he'd predicted, Cora had been locked up again with the spinning wheel. The stack of straw behind her was twice as tall.

By the light of the single tallow candle, Rumplestiltskin could see Cora was dry-eyed, but she looked relieved at his arrival. She jumped up from her stool and ran to him, taking his hands as she had the night before. This time when his pulse reacted, he didn't pull away.

"Did you think I'd abandon you?"

Her dark eyes danced. "After what you did in the square today? No. You were my hero. You did more than I could have dreamed."

Cora's esteem filled Rumplestiltskin with such high spirits that he tapped his feet. Then he cocked his head. "Wilhelm's laid up with a sprained ankle, isn't he? Your bad luck that didn't distract him from stabling you here like a pony with a load of straw. He's a greedy bastard."

Cora dropped her smile. "The more gold you spin for him, the more he'll want. Where will it end?"

"Never you mind, dear. Make me a deal, let me get started, and I'll tell you a trick of the trade." Reluctantly, Rumplestiltskin loosed himself from her hands and waited to see what Cora would offer him.

She raised her hand close to his lips. "My ring."

"Ah, red garnet." _And from the ease with which you offer it, an object with no sentimental value whatsoever._ Rumplestiltskin sighed happily. "The deal is struck." He flourished his hand to summon his spinning stool. In a moment he'd taken his place, and close by, she'd taken hers. To initiate the work of spinning straw into gold took him less than a minute. When he glanced at Cora, he saw her focusing intently on the point where the drab yellow thread started sparkling—as if she were trying to divine how the magic worked. At last she murmured, "You were going to tell me one of your tricks."

Rumplestiltskin waggled his head. "I'm afraid it's more mundane than transmuting plant material into metal."

Looking disappointed, Cora raised her eyes to his.

"It's the art of obfuscation." Rumplestiltskin put on his jester's voice. "If you value your own sanity, this trick's worth _more_ than gold."

Cora leaned forward, propping her chin in her palms. Just a few inches from his arm, her flawless face turned up to his.

Gazing down into her eyes, Rumplestiltskin felt quite the master imparting wisdom to a disciple. "Some types of magic—generally ones involving potions—are naturally convoluted and challenging to achieve. They require hard-to-find ingredients, endless processing steps, and lengthy aging periods. When magic is difficult, it's rarely performed. Then there are other… other…"

Rumplestiltskin paused, blinking. Her rich brown eyes had made him lose his train of thought. He switched his gaze to his spinning apparatus. "Other types of magic—generally ones involving curses—have such dire consequences that their devisers build convolutions and challenges into them. Complex circumstances must align and crazy rules must be fulfilled to achieve the curse. That way, when magic is dark and dangerous, it's also rarely performed." The instructions for the universe-ripping curse he had locked away were the most complex and crazy he'd ever seen.

Rumplestiltskin shrugged. "Other types of magic are naturally easy, and their results are generally welcome. But what witch or wizard wants to constantly be called upon to perform the same silly feat again and again ad nauseum? That's where obfuscation comes in." Glancing at Cora sidelong, he grinned. "One_ invents_ convoluted formulas, challenging steps, complex circumstances, and crazy rules to explain why the magic accomplished yesterday can only be performed rarely."

Cora laughed. She placed her hand on Rumplestiltskin's knee, just above the top of his dragon-hide boot. "You're a genius, Dark One. Yet again, you're my salvation."

At Cora's touch, Rumplestiltskin heard a moan start in his throat and immediately squelched it, turning it into a squeak. Embarrassed, he sped up the wheel and concentrated on the straw flying into his hand and the golden thread twisting onto the granite floor.

"I have the perfect obfuscation." Cora patted his thigh, pulling his attention inexorably back to her. "The rule is that only two nights worth of gold spun by the same skilled virgin can exist at a time. If the virgin is asked to spin a third night, then the gold from the first night turns back into straw."

Rumplestiltskin inhaled deeply. Cora's quick wit was amazing. "Just one alteration, dear. Magic rules require threes."

Cora's deep brown eyes half-closed like a contented cat's. "You're right. A third night of spinning is definitely required."

* * *

When half the straw was gone, Rumplestiltskin took a break. The half that was left he used for spreading out their supper. Raiding his larder back home, he conjured entrée after entrée with all the trimmings—starting with domestic fare like baked ham and roast lamb and proceeding to exotic rarities like braised cockatrice and poached sea monster. Cora took a delicate bite of each. Her enjoyment of the succession of new tastes made him wrack his brain to make the next offering more glamorous than the one before.

The whole time she kept up a steady stream of guesses as to his name: _Cedric, Roderick, Warrick? Etheldred, Mordred, Haldred? _She was making her way back to the century of his birth, he observed. Even so, she was unlikely to ever chance upon a name as obscure as his.

"Dessert, dear?" Grinning, Rumplestiltskin brought out his best selection of crèmes, cakes, and compotes.

When at last Cora held up a hand for _enough_ and fell back on the straw, Rumplestiltskin whisked every bit of serving ware and china back to his fortress. Then he dropped onto the straw, hands behind his head, next to her.

Cora laughed. "I was just remembering King Wilhelm falling _kersplat_! on his backside. Hard enough to see that happen and keep a straight face. But to hear you giggling was too much. If you hadn't silenced me, I'd have collapsed on the dais snickering—then I would've been whipped."

Rumplestiltskin popped up to a sitting position, legs crossed in front of him. He leaned forward to stare into her face. "You _did_ hear me, didn't you? And see me, too—even when I was wearing my cloak. That little article of clothing is charmed to keep me overlooked in a crowd. Today it allowed me to pass hundreds of people unnoticed. Yet you pierced my defenses in an instant."

Cora tipped her head to the side. "Maybe I just can't ignore you."

Rumplestiltskin narrowed his eyes, studying her. What she said sounded so lovely, he felt a pinch in his chest. "Or maybe, my dear, you possess the knack for magic."

She took a deep breath. "You think so?"

He gave a little shrug. "Have you ever suspected that you do?"

"On occasion…" Cora looked aside, suddenly shy. "Let me see what you think…" She propped herself on her side away from him and extended one index finger. From where he sat, Rumplestiltskin could observe both her and the tallow candle in the pewter holder to which she was pointing. "Sometimes this seems to work... Other times I think I'm imagining it…"

Cora moved her finger up and down, back and forth, and in a circle. At first nothing happened, then slowly the flame began to respond—and not just the way a candle would respond to a breath of air. The flame stretched, bent, wiggled, swirled and hopped a foot above the wick. In a moment, it was dancing midair. It hung there, fizzing and sparkling and glinting in a rainbow of colors.

"Magic," Rumplestiltskin breathed. Things nature couldn't explain had been the routine of his life for so long that the only time they gave him joy was when a trick brought joy to someone else. Watching Cora's animated fire, for the first time in ages, he felt the thrill of witnessing the unexpected. Hers was the magic of the amateur discovering something wondrous and dreaming up variations to see where they led. In a word: _Delightful_.

Cora dropped her prestidigitation and rolled over to face him. The flame fell back to the wick. Looking mournful, she shook her head. "What use is it? I've tried _lighting_ a candle, and I just can't figure it out. Maybe wiggling a flame is all the magic I have."

"My dear, my dear—my dear, sweet girl!" Excited, Rumplestiltskin jumped to his feet. "The first thing you have to understand about magic is that it's not_ in_ anybody. It's in everybody and everything. What an _individual_ has is the power to harness it. A sail maker is just an individual with the power to harness the magic of the wind by natural means. The same with a miller and water, a farmer and seeds, a weaver and wool. And what is _power_ except knack nurtured by instruction, study, practice, analysis, extrapolation, and experimentation?"

Cora sat up, brushing straw from her skirt and bodice. "Knack?"

"Yes." Rumplestiltskin waved his hands for emphasis. "Perception, mostly, and dexterity for the task at hand; confidence, too, to actually _try_ it. Oh, to some degree _everyone_ has the knack to harness natural magic—or else they _die_. Even the ability to take a flint and light a candle or blow on it to put it out demonstrates knack for harnessing _natural_ magic." He paused to catch his breath.

"And…_super_natural magic?" Cora clasped her hands in her lap.

"It's everywhere! It saturates our world. It's as common as water." Rumplestiltskin shook himself like a dog that had just come in out of the rain. "But the knack of harnessing it is _exceedingly_ rare. And dear, you have it. What you figured out with that candle flame—all on your own—_proves_ it. Having the knack to harness supernatural magic makes you very exceptional indeed."

Cora flushed and dipped her head to look at her hands.

Rumplestiltskin began pacing the tiny chamber with abrupt twists and turns. "Like that flame, knack can be brought under control—made to _dance_. With instruction, study and all the rest you can gain the power to harness our world's magic, to direct it, twist it, and amplify it."

Out the corner of his eye, he saw Cora raise her chin to look at him. "And how can I receive this… instruction?"

Rumplestiltskin stopped stock still. Her watchful brown eyes disrupted his thoughts. "I—I don't know."

Cora's mouth parted, seemingly in surprise, then slowly curved into a smile. "You _don't_?"

Disconcerted, Rumplestiltskin shook his head. "No. Not really. I mean, the knack mostly runs in families. Parents pass the tradition of how to use it down to their children." He chewed his lower lip a moment. "Are you sure you don't have an elderly witch of an aunt who can tutor you?"

"Sadly, no. Apparently, the knack does _not_ run in my family." Cora chuckled softly. "The only one I've ever met who understands magic is _you_."

"Me?" Rumplestiltskin folded his arms and fell back a step. "I—I couldn't teach. I wouldn't know the first thing about—I mean, I never had a teacher myself."

Cora tipped her head to one side. "Not even when you were a child?"

"I didn't _have_ the knack then, not when I was a child. Then when I gained it, I gained it all of a sudden—a ridiculous, egregious, crushing amount of knack. It overpowered me. Some things that I could do I only discovered when I did them—when it was too late to _un_do them." Rumplestiltskin blew out his breath. "Over the years, I analyzed my knack. That helped me control it, gauge it, extend it to tasks I couldn't do before. I collected books, magical objects, devices. I studied and experimented. All of this I did on my own… over a long, long period of time. Now, at last, I have my gigantic knack under control so that it's truly power." _Mostly. _"That's what it is to be the Dark One."

Cora had gazed at him with frank, unblinking interest during his entire recitation. Rumplestiltskin waited nervously for her response. At last she said, "You weren't _born_ this way? You were born… a man?"

Rumplestiltskin cocked his head to the side. In his best imp voice, he replied, "Hard to believe, isn't it, dearie?"

"So the whole thing… the powers and the _look_. It's more of a mantle passed on to you?"

Rumplestiltskin sucked air through his rotting teeth. If only sparkly skin, lizard eyes, talons and the rest were a mantle he could take on and off. "That's one way of putting it."

Cora frowned. "So, why didn't the _previous_ Dark One mentor you when he gave you the mantle?"

Rumplestiltskin widened his eyes, smiling brightly, trying to look as innocent as possible. To become the Dark One, he'd stolen the cursed dagger and plunged it into the previous Dark One's breast. He'd been lucky Zoso had drawn breath long enough for one piece of advice: _Looks like you made a deal you didn't understand. I don't think you're going to do that again_. He swallowed hard. "The _way_ the Dark One mantle is passed on rather prohibits mentoring."

Picking up a piece of straw, Cora began peeling it into strips. "Well, I can try to do what you did… study on my own over a long, long period of time."

Rumplestiltskin hung his head, feeling as bad as a father who had confiscated his child's lollipop. "I know of some witches and wizards who engage apprentices. Maybe…" As the words left his mouth, regret stirred inside him. If only he were a proper wizard—someone from a great family with a long tradition—then he could be her master teacher. He was as much a usurper of magic as King Wilhelm's line was of the throne of Wensumlea.

"Maybe you can show me _one_ skill." Cora shrugged, a coy smile on her lips. "Perhaps you _can_ teach but you'll only discover it when you _do_ teach."

Cora's demure request made Rumplestiltskin giggle. "Ah, you turn my words back on me." _You're a clever woman, indeed._

Cora held out her hand. Rumplestiltskin hesitated then took it and pulled her to her feet. "I only repeat others' words if they make good sense," she said. "Come on. See if I'm a quick study. Teach me to spin straw into gold."

* * *

Cora sat on Rumplestiltskin's spinning stool. He stood behind her, his hands hovering over hers, his jaw tensed, his lips sucked between his teeth. Not meddling took every bit of self-control he could muster. When the thread snagged and tore off a tendril, he clenched his fingers until his talons bit into his palms.

The magic wasn't the issue. After a brief explanation, Cora had been able to take the focus and will she'd applied to charming the candle flame and translate it to enticing a steady stream of straw from the pile to her hand. Reworking the blades into fibers required a different mindset altogether, but in an hour she'd mastered it. The part he'd thought would be hard—transmuting plant material into gold—she'd achieved on her fourth try.

What Cora had no knack for was spinning. And instructing her was impossible. The rapt attention she afforded magic evaporated when Rumplestiltskin turned to talk of bobbins, spindles, and fliers. _Exasperating!_

He watched in frustration as straw bunched up in her hand, a mix of raw blades and half-transformed fiber. Despite the obvious mess, her other hand kept twirling the wheel. The small length of thread she'd managed to spin over-twisted into kinks and loops that soon became knots. Then it balled up entirely.

Sweet, young Cora slammed her fists on her knees. "Spinning! It's tedious! It's for simple-minded peasants who don't know more intelligent ways to spend their time."

Her outburst hit Rumplestiltskin like a slap. His chest muscles tightened, and his teeth clenched. _She's upset. Her words are just a knife without a handle. She doesn't mean anything by them._

Cora grabbed handfuls of her dark, lavish hair. "I want to learn _magic_, not how to be a better housewife. With magic I can have others spin and weave and sew _for_ me."

Rumplestiltskin took a deep breath. Then he wiggled his fingers playfully in the air. "And so you shall, dear. So you shall. It's not my fault your father boasted you could _spin_ straw into gold. If the gold isn't in the form of spun straw, then—"

Cora whirled around on the stool. Her hand shot out just under his arm. She pointed, then flicked her wrist. "Voila!" she said. "The straw is gold."

Rumplestiltskin whipped his head over his shoulder. "Oh, Cora. What have you done?" The remaining portion of the hay was now a glittering stack of gold strips. Beautiful, really. But quite unusable for the task at hand.

Glancing down, he saw Cora staring at the results of her impulsiveness. For a moment, she seemed shocked by her success. Then she clapped. "Look! We're done. Now you can show me another trick."

Rumplestiltskin clicked his tongue. "No. That's—that's enough for one night. First I need to figure out how to take care of _this_ problem_._"

"What problem?"

"If you present King Wilhelm with ten bags of golden thread and ten bags of golden hay, your whole story of what a skilled virgin can do with straw in one night will be shown up as the fabrication it is. He'll _know_ how easy this type of magic is for you. Until your hair goes gray and your teeth fall out, he and his royal house will lock you in this chamber to do _that_—" Rumplestiltskin pointed to the rather impressive display of Cora's transmutation skills. "Dear, oh dearie, dear. It should be simple, but for the life of me I can't think how to directly change golden straw into golden thread. It certainly can't be spun." He glanced down. "Perhaps you—"

"No. It's the thread part I can't picture. _You're_ the spinner, after all."

"So I am, so I am." Sighing, Rumplestiltskin waved his hand to whisk away the golden heap and snapped his fingers to bring in fresh straw. He sized up what was left of the candle. No sleep tonight, but he had enough time to fix the situation for Cora before her captors unbarred the door.

And then Cora hugged him—without warning, taking him by surprise, sending a shiver of excitement up his spine that made him feel like flying. Her arms tightened around his waist, and she pressed her cheek against him. Closing his eyes, he concentrated on clamping his jaw so no little animal sounds of pleasure escaped his lips. As it was, he couldn't stifle his pounding pulse.

Then Rumplestiltskin's blood betrayed him in the most embarrassing fashion imaginable. He twisted sideways away from Cora, patted her head then ventured one stroke down the length of her hair. Sucking air into his lungs like a swimmer emerging from a long dive, he placed his hands on her shoulders and pushed her away.

"Dear Cora, I shall spin and you shall keep me company. Maybe tonight you can guess my name."

* * *

**Please comment! Even one word is welcome.**


	4. The Chamber Door Was Locked

_**Chapter 4**_

**The Chamber Door Was Locked**

Not until Rumplestiltskin was in his mountain fortress library, gazing out on the crags and peaks, did it occur to him he had fulfilled a request for magic—Cora's eagerness to learn a trick—without first striking a deal. _Curious._ He'd never done that before.

Rumplestiltskin leaned on the granite windowsill, chin in hand, staring at the cloud shadows on the jagged rocks. Was the imparting of knowledge different from other transactions? Was the master-novice relationship so unique that his need for equity had been replaced by something else—a desire to bestow his insights and receive, perhaps, acknowledgment?

Rumplestiltskin's mouth hovered between a smile and a frown. Despite his complete unsuitability, he found himself considering taking on Cora's magical education. She wanted him to be her mentor. What was holding him back? Ogre parleys were nearly complete for another year. After that he'd have days, weeks, even months to devote to the cultivation of Cora's knack.

With the proper encouragement, who knew what she was capable of?

* * *

The third night that Rumplestiltskin arrived in swirls of purple to call on Cora, he found her pacing. When she saw him, her expression said, _Thank goodness_. Immediately, he could see why: the haystack behind her reached to the ceiling.

"Ah. You didn't start without me."

"Not after the way I bollixed up the thread last night." Cora brushed back her rich brown hair. "After all, you're the master spinner."

_From you, that might not be a compliment_. Rumplestiltskin pursed his lips. No time for flourishes. He gave a perfunctory flick of his wrist to summon his stool. As he rounded the spinning wheel, he noticed a large amount of straw that had been pulled off the stack. The resulting heap looked like a comfortable spot to lounge. _Well, naturally Cora relaxed while she was waiting for me._ Then, beyond the strewn straw, he saw a jug. He paused. _Of course, they gave her something to drink_.

Taking a step closer, Rumplestiltskin spied a wine glass with burgundy-red dregs at the bottom. Glancing at Cora, he noted a hint of wariness. Placing his fingertips together, he took three playfully exaggerated steps, lifting each knee high before placing his boot back down. As he'd feared, behind the wine jug, half-buried in the straw, he saw a second glass.

Rumplestiltskin felt a pinch in his chest. Then he told himself, _No matter. Was the imp expecting anything different? _Putting on a broad smile, he turned. "I hope I didn't frighten away your company."

Cora's chin began quivering. Rumplestiltskin's eyebrows pulled together. Then she let out a sob and raced toward him. Her embrace was immediate and tight.

_Good thing I wore leviathan_, he thought. The skin was particularly thick.

"It's Prince Henry," Cora moaned. "He—he's _bothering_ me. He _made_ me drink with him. He's _horrible_."

Rumplestiltskin patted her back. _Benefactor and mentor weren't enough for your little imp? Now I'm to be your confidante, too?_ He bit his lip. "There, there, dear. What's so horrible? Henry saw you. He wanted to see again. Don't tell me you don't have experience with young men like that."

In response, Cora began crying in earnest. "That's my problem. I have _endless_ experience."

_And yet so little perspective. _Clasping her shoulders, Rumplestiltskin held her out at arm's length. "Henry's not so bad—and he _is_ a prince." He turned his head to the side to train one teasing eye on her charming face. "Be glad the royal interest isn't from pants-wetting Falfrey."

"_Royal interest?_" Cora twisted out of his grasp. Her face was suddenly furious. "And what is the prince interested in? _This?_" She held up her hands to frame her superb face then swept them down her exquisite body. "I thought all this meant nothing to you. I thought _you_ were different."

"Why?" Rumplestiltskin felt his jaw quiver. He jerked his head to stop it. "Because I'm not a man?"

Cora glared at him. "No. Because you're _more_ than a man. You're _better_ than a man."

Her exclamation struck Rumplestiltskin like a hammer hitting a gong. He stared at her, still feeling the reverberations. _What magnificent words_. She couldn't mean them. "You're—you're beautiful. Why deny it? But I _do_ see more—your intelligence, your spirit. _And_ your knack. Your raw, unexplored, supernatural knack absolutely enthralls me." _But I am still a man_.

At his praise, Cora's anger vanished. "And what does a royal know about knack? Only how to use people who have it then toss them aside."

_So well put_. Nodding, Rumplestiltskin took a step forward. "King Wilhelm's the worst of them. I have the knack for understanding ogre-speak. With that knack, every year, I protect Wensumlea from slaughter and destruction—but when I come for parley, does he invite me to supper? Even to share a toast?"

Cora's eyes sparkled. She reached out to touch the back of his hand. "You deserve more. You deserve so much more."

Rumplestiltskin felt his eyelids flutter. He stared at her hand resting on his. _She doesn't mind my lizard skin? _"And _you_ deserve to be courted by the best of the best—but only if they're willing to do it properly. So here's a trick that will keep Prince Henry from _bothering_ you." _At least without your permission. _

* * *

Cora intoned the words Rumplestiltskin had taught her.

_Her accent sounds right this time_, he thought. "Let me test it." He skipped across the room. This time, a few feet from the actual wall, he bumped a force as solid as a wall. Rubbing his nose, he turned back. "The trial worked. From now on, wherever you are, whenever you want, you can conjure a dome of protection."

Cora frowned. "You're sure it's strong? _Really_ strong?"

Rumplestiltskin shrugged. "It's the spell I use on my own fortress."

"Your _own_ fortress." Cora's eyebrows rose. "Then you've given me very powerful magic. But _you_ can get around it, can't you?"

"Naturally. And anyone I give a key," he added, thinking of Jeffrey and Gwynneth. "All spells can be broken. If that weren't the case, think of the problems! If an old wizard dies at home, his heir must be able to enter to cart away the body. Otherwise, the Enchanted Forest would be filled with inaccessible castles housing rotting wizard corpses." Not his problem, of course. The only kind of heir he'd ever have would be one who slew him with his own dagger. In that case, his remains would be conveniently at hand for burial.

"Tomorrow morning I'm returning home," Cora said. "Casting this spell around my bedroom would be very useful, but I'd want to give the key to—"

_If not Henry, then who? _Rumplestiltskin gritted his teeth while maintaining a pleasant smile.

"—my mother," Cora finished.

Rumplestiltskin felt his jaw relax and his smile widen. "Of course, dear, of course. Let me show you how."

* * *

This time Rumplestiltskin set up the barrier so Cora could test her grasp of the key spell. When she slipped through on her third try, he smiled and shook his head. "You're a quick study indeed." Now that she could work the magic that unlocked the barrier, she was free to make a word key simple enough for anyone to use—even a royal completely lacking in knack.

"Henceforth," Rumplestiltskin said, "it's your choice whether someone like Prince Henry can visit for a drink."

Cora folded her arms. "Why do you think I'd ever want Henry to visit? Or another prince? Or any royal at all?"

Playing the court jester, Rumplestiltskin spread out his hands. "Stands to reason, dearie. They have the luxury, the prestige, the power—the best life has to offer."

"Pooh. Their power's nothing. What if my interests lie elsewhere?"

Cora's focus on Rumplestiltskin was so intense, it was piercing. _Does she mean it? No interest in royals whatsoever? Her interest lies… elsewhere? _He felt like a juggler's spinning plate. Was this magic or an illusion?

Still in comic mode, Rumplestiltskin stabbed one taloned finger in the air. "Elsewhere outside this chamber, surely. If King Wilhelm is letting you return home tomorrow, then he's including one catch: a third night's worth of golden thread spun from straw by the realm's most skilful virgin."

Cora's posture sagged. "There's that."

Rumplestiltskin sauntered to his stool. Once seated, he asked, "Well, dear, what'll you give me to start spinning?"

Cora's lips parted. "You're—you're joking, aren't you?"

"Joking? No. I _never_ fulfill a request for magic without a deal." _Just can't._

Cora stepped closer. "Never? But what about—"

"Tutoring? Oh, that's different. Surprised me, too. But work? Civilized people require fair exchange for that. Only royals expect something for nothing."

Pulling her stool closer, Cora huddled down beside him. "Royals. I despise them."

Rumplestiltskin clasped his hands and studied her sidelong. If he could get Cora to say that one more time, he'd truly believe her.

Cora exhaled noisily. "I don't have anything more to give you—not really. Not unless you'd accept my shoes."

Rumplestiltskin giggled. "Keep your shoes on, dear. You _are_ planning on walking out of here tomorrow, aren't you?" He cocked his head. "We could just say you'll owe me a favor—something you'll repay in the future."

Playfully, Cora shook a finger at his nose. "A _favor_? Unspecified? Open-ended? That could mean _anything—anything at all._ Maybe one day you'll drop by and ask for a sip of water. Or maybe—just maybe—you'll ask for my firstborn baby."

At the word _baby_, Rumplestiltskin looked at his hands. He was practically wringing them in his lap. _Ach, she's heard my reputation_. Ridiculous, really. He adored babies—new, innocent, unspoiled by the rottenness of daily life. Certainly, he'd brokered deals for them. Why not? If a married couple of means and loving disposition called out to the Dark One—agonized because cruel fate had not blessed them with a child, well, why shouldn't he find them a copiously breeding slattern willing to give up one wee babe to a happier life? Surely Cora didn't believe the rumor he ate them, did she?

Rumplestiltskin cocked his head. "Clever woman. Exchanging work for payment in the here-and-now avoids all misunderstanding. But if your payment is due in the future, always insist on specific terms."

Cora twisted her head toward the mountain of straw. "What could I ever give you that would be worth spinning _that_? To afford what you deserve, I'd _have_ to marry a royal."

_Marry a royal? She can't. _Rumplestiltskin ducked his chin and peered at his lap. He'd nearly twisted his fingers in a knot. "But that's something you'd never do."

"I wouldn't want to."

When Rumplestiltskin glanced up, he saw Cora regarding him with wide innocent eyes. _You wouldn't? Truly?_ Suddenly, he realized he had a way to find out. "There's another kind of agreement we can make—one dependent on _special circumstances. _If the circumstances never ever occur, then the terms are never ever met. But that wouldn't matter. My need for balance and order would be satisfied even if there's never any cost to you."

Smiling, Cora leaned forward. She managed to find the spot just above the leviathan jerkin's collar where she could tap exposed flesh. "So tell me. What deal will we strike tonight?"

Rumplestiltskin stared intently into her deep brown eyes. "In the event you marry Prince Henry, your firstborn child will belong to me."

Cora blinked.

_Other than that, she's not reacting,_ Rumplestiltskin thought. But her finger on his collarbone was beginning to make him feel slightly dizzy. "Isn't that a bargain? A roomful of gold, your freedom, the gratitude of your country's monarch, more donations to ogre appeasement—all for a price you'll never ever have to pay?" _She's still staring at me—just staring._

Suddenly, Cora laughed. "I'm no prince's brood mare. Why _wouldn't_ I make that deal?" Slowly, she trailed her index finger up his throat until it rested on his chin. "Time for my dear Dark One to fulfill _his_ end."

When Cora moved her finger up and down, Rumplestiltskin's head moved along with it. Her touch made him weak—no doubt about that. If she wanted him to nod, he'd nod. "Just one thing," he whispered.

Cora sat back, demurely folding her hands in her lap. "What's that?"

Rumplestiltskin raised a hand, letting it hang in the air. "A deal that doesn't require immediate payment requires something else: a contract."

Cora pressed her lips together. Her expression said, _Surely, you jest._

Rumplestiltskin gave her a sheepish smile. "Same requirement for everyone. That's equity." He jerked his wrist. The contract that appeared was short—less than a tenth of the ogre truce he'd made King Wilhelm sign. "Standard terms, dear. Completely transparent." He waved his other hand to produce an already inked quill. "Just sign on the dotted line."

* * *

The implication of Cora's signature on the contract took a while to sink in—but when it did, Rumplestiltskin was singing. He spun the straw into gold so quickly the twirling spindle was practically a blur.

_Round about, round about,  
Lo and behold!  
Reel away, reel away,  
Straw into gold!_

As Rumplestiltskin softly crooned the words, he watched Cora stroll around the little chamber. Her nonchalance at pledging away a future baby with Prince Henry meant she intended to never have one at all. And if she had no interest in bearing him an heir, then that meant she had no interest in him. After all, had a woman ever lived who didn't want her beloved's child?

"Well, my dear," Rumplestiltskin said at last, waggling his head, "where _do_ your interests lie?"

"Not in housewifery. That's for certain." Cora turned to face him. "I'll tell you: in discovering how to use my knack. And having you teach me how to do it. Last night you said you couldn't. I think since then you've changed your mind."

Cora's expectant gaze made Rumplestiltskin glow. He looked aside to the golden thread, jigging and cavorting as it rippled to the floor. "Perhaps, dear. Perhaps."

"And you'd tutor me in magic for no payment at all?"

Rumplestiltskin shrugged, his eyes still on his spindle. "Magic always comes with a price. But you needn't think of it as high. Occasionally, an apprentice might be called upon to help her mentor—in the interests of learning the trade." _And to spend time with the mentor. Lots of time._

Without warning, Cora's hands cupped Rumplestiltskin's shoulders. He nearly tumbled off his stool.

"So you're committed to teaching me? As long as it takes?"

Rumplestiltskin straightened back up. "Indeed. I honor my agreements."

With an oblique glance, he saw Cora dip her head to peer at his face. With admirable force of will, he continued spinning thread.

She squeezed his shoulders. "When do I sign the contract?"

Rumplestiltskin's mouth felt dry. He sucked on his lips to moisten them. "I have no standard contract for… this type of agreement. This is all… very new to me."

"So you're unsure how to handle it?" Cora craned her neck forward until she was nearly nose to nose. "I know one way we can seal the deal."

Like a moth near a flame, Rumplestiltskin felt mesmerized by her gaze. All he could manage was, "Hmm?"

Cora's eyes danced. "With a kiss."

Rumplestiltskin's hand fell limply off the wheel. Straw flew out of his other hand into the air. "Cora," he breathed. _Did she say kiss?_

She sprang back from him, clapping her hands. "Oh! You should see your face. The Dark One _is_ a man after all."

Anger welled up inside Rumplestiltskin. Every muscle went rigid and yet he was shaking—partially from fury, partially from humiliation. Her behavior was so outrageous he had no word for it. He _was_ the Dark One. How could she make a mockery of it? Didn't she know he could rip her beating heart from her chest and crush it into black smoldering ash? And yet Cora stood there, snickering at him. He stared at her, frankly appalled.

"Oh, darling," she murmured, hunkering down to the level of his stool. Closing her eyes, she swayed toward him.

For a split second, Rumplestiltskin felt a panic he'd not experienced since he was a mortal peasant facing ogres on the battlefield. Then her lips pressed against his. Moaning, he snaked his arms around her. His eyes wide open, he watched her hair tumble over her brow and her lashes brush her cheek. _I'm not imagining this_. Dragging her onto his lap, he embraced her, fondled her, cuddled her.

When Cora's tongue poked at Rumplestiltskin, he slid his lips over to nuzzle behind her ear. Sighing, she lifted her hair out of the way. "I thought men liked that kind of kiss… or so I've heard."

Groaning, Rumplestiltskin pressed his forehead against her shoulder. His cheeks felt hot with shame. _Men whose mouths aren't full of corruption._ Why did Dark One powers have to come with decaying teeth?

Rumplestiltskin raised his head, shifted on his stool, and repositioned Cora on his lap. Taking deep calming breaths, he wracked his brain for something to say.

Cora patted his arm. "So, is the deal struck?"

Slightly woozy, Rumplestiltskin nodded. _Good and struck_.

"Then teach me another trick."

* * *

_Good thing Cora's a quick study_. Her alacrity at picking up the art of self-transport had given him at least three hours to spin. He wondered whether she was also his good luck charm. In the middle of his work, the moonstone on his ring had begun to glow a particularly warm shade of orange—the pre-arranged signal that at dawn Jeffery would finally take him portal-hopping via his amazing hat. By the time Rumplestiltskin reached the last of the straw Prince Henry had arranged for his unwelcome tête-à-tête, he was grinning.

For the umpteenth time that night, he heard a whooshing sound. Dense purple clouds appeared across the room. Gentle Cora stood in the middle of them. Coughing, she batted the smoky curls away from her face. "Does it have to be so thick?"

Smiling fondly, Rumplestiltskin continued to spin the wheel. "With time you'll manage to open and shut the door from the astral plane fast enough to allow only a delicate mist to seep through—unless you _want _a grand entrance."

Cora nodded then looked around. Pointing at the forty bulging sacks piled against the wall, she tsked. "Dark One, I could have stuffed the bags."

"No bother," Rumplestiltskin said as the very last twist of golden thread dropped to the floor. "Finished! You can bag _that_."

Folding her arms, Cora took three mischievously mincing steps toward him. "Back to your mountain fortress, is it?"

Rumplestiltskin twitched a finger at her. "Did I say it was in the mountains?"

"What fortress isn't?" Cora lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. "You _should_ be living in an airy marble castle with a grand entrance, floor-to-ceiling windows, embroidered tapestries, and golden fittings everywhere. That's what you deserve."

Rumplestiltskin returned a dreamy smile. Had any woman ever talked to him this sweetly? "My north turret parlor is cozy."

"And the rest of it is grungy gray granite and ice cold flagstone. Am I right?"

_If you put it that way._ Rumplestiltskin gave her a lopsided smile. "We don't need to do your lessons there."

"No," Cora said quickly. "Your fortress sounds lovely. You can't teach me at the mill. My father wouldn't understand."

_I hadn't considered that_. "I'm thinking we should begin with the natural elements. That subject is best taught out-of-doors."

"At least until it snows… How about the meadow in the hills above the millstream? The one with the ring of stones in the center? Do you know it?"

"Where the fairies used to dance, yes." Rumplestiltskin tucked his chin down. _Fairies_. He despised them. Talk about ungracious snobs. When he'd ripped the boulders from the heart of Mount Dire and hurled them into the midst of Rheul Gorm's party, they'd scattered quickly enough.

"When should we meet...master?"

_Master_. Rumplestiltskin liked the sound of that. "Today and tomorrow, I have business to conduct. On the day after, your true education in the art of magic will begin. When you're ready, call me. I will appear."

* * *

**Thanks to everyone who commented, followed or favorited this story—encouragement makes it easier to continue writing!**

**A promotional still from "The Miller's Daughter" episode of Once Upon a Time **(that aired _after_ this chapter was written): Still wearing the red gown in which she'd sneaked into a masquerade ball, Cora was locked in a tower rather than a dungeon to spin gold and for one night only, but Rumplestiltskin _did_ wear his leviathan (or some such thick hide) jacket and he _did_ require a contract for the future baby:**tinyurl DOT com/nx36ctn**


	5. So Much Trouble for Nothing

_**Chapter 5**_

**So Much Trouble for Nothing**

An hour before dawn, Rumplestiltskin appeared at the front door of Jeffery and Gwynneth's modest country manor. He'd been looking forward to his first trip with Jeffery and his portal-opening hat since they'd met. Now that the day had come, all he wanted was to return to Cora. His charming apprentice would still be asleep—her last night of rocking in a hammock of golden thread. _Sweet dreams, my dear._

Straightening the hood on his cloak of unnoticeability, Rumplestiltskin knocked. Not until he'd tapped his boot a dozen times did he hear the bar lift and the heavy oaken door scrape open.

A sleepy-eyed maid stood blinking in the doorway. "Is someone there?"

When Rumplestiltskin patted her hand, she jumped. "Dear, tell your mistress the guest has arrived."

Clearly befuddled, she nodded and ran off. _Poor thing_. If he'd revealed his identity, she would have shrieked.

Behind him, Rumplestiltskin heard a horse whinny. Turning, he spied a plump young woman in white fur cantering into the courtyard. She pulled up on the reins, and her gray steed slowed to a walk.

"Hello?" she called out. "Stable boy?"

Rumplestiltskin rolled his eyes. The rider's expectation that wherever she went, a servant would be handy meant one thing: aristocracy. Since the house sat halfway between Wensumlea and Damaria, she was most probably a highborn lady of one of those two kingdoms. Likely she'd come for Gwynneth's fortune telling.

The young lady twisted in her saddle. "Anyone?"

"Coming, miss." Rumplestiltskin sauntered across the cobblestones and grabbed the harness. The horse—like all beasts—wasn't fooled by his cloak. It wasn't frightened by his appearance either. He clicked his tongue, and the animal stood still. Reaching up, he took hold of the lady and swung her down. Good thing he was wearing gloves or his talons might have scratched her.

"I'm such a bother," she murmured. "Thank you."

The voice sounded familiar. Rumplestiltskin cocked his head. _Princess Pellinore_? As he walked the horse to a hitching post for the real stable boy to tend, she followed it.

"Sir? Are you still there? My horse is Morningstar. He loves carrots."

_Pelly-Nelly-Nor indeed. _When King Wilhelm's youngest daughter was four, her Nanny Katya had called upon the Dark One to chase a hobgoblin out of the princess's closet. As payment, little Pelly had given him a puppet. _This is Dogface. He'll keep you company_. A dozen years later, before her debut ball, he'd enchanted her shoes to help her dance.

_I doubt she remembers._

As Rumplestiltskin secured the reins in the post's brass ring, a light shone down on them. Lifting his head, he saw Gwynneth frowning in the doorway. _She's afraid I'll scare away her client_. He touched his cloak and signaled not to worry.

"Gwynn!" Pellinore bustled up the front steps and hugged the pregnant young witch like the oldest and dearest of friends.

Rumplestiltskin trailed the princess to the door. _Not as bad as the usual royal. _

* * *

An hour later, Rumplestiltskin sat thumbing an old spell book in Jeffery's study while his friend shuffled through papers. Once again, his mind drifted to Cora. By now she would be showing off the forty-one bags of golden thread. If King Wilhelm didn't release her immediately after, Rumplestiltskin would transform him into a snail and step on him.

Hearing the study door swing open, Rumplestiltskin looked up to see Gwynneth hoisting two knapsacks. "I packed lunches. Oz can't make a decent shepherd's pie."

"You want some recent she-bird's eye?" Jeffery mumbled, rifling a jumble of papers stuffed in a cauldron. "How recent?"

Snickering, Rumplestiltskin lay down the spell book and rose to his feet. "Give me the lunches, dear. If we disturb Jeffery, he'll never find whatever it is he's searching for."

Rumplestiltskin met Gwynneth halfway across the room. After she handed over the knapsacks, she began straightening the gold clasp on his cloak. "I see you dressed in layers. Good. Lilliput is warm this time of year, but Black-and-White Land is always chilly." She frowned. "How long have you had this?"

_Two centuries. _"Felted fleece never goes out of style."

"And it _is_ charmed." Gwynneth stepped back to view the results of her fussing. "Pelly told me an interesting tale about you and this cloak. Seems that on this week's proclamation day you sprang out of nowhere, terrorized the populace, and set her brother Falfrey straight about Wensumlea's ogre truce. Pelly saw it from her balcony. She said you were _dashing_."

"Did she?"

"Like the time you snatched her from the jaws of a child-eating monster and slew it with your bare hands." Gwynneth gave him a quizzical look.

Rumplestiltskin snickered. "I grabbed a hobgoblin out of her closet that liked to burp and say rude things, and I chucked it out her window." He raised one hand in a flourish. "Nice to know I made a good impression. You have, too, from the way she greeted you. What did she want?"

"There _is_ such a thing as seer-seeker confidentiality," Gwynneth chided him. "But since you're a colleague… Without disclosing any names, Pelly told me a dowry had been secured and a marriage could now take place. She wanted to know if it would be happy."

"Well?"

Gwynneth quirked one side of her mouth and gravely shook her head.

_Poor Pelly-Nelly-Nor_, Rumplestiltskin thought.

* * *

"Found it!" Jeffery shot Rumplestiltskin a relieved smile. Then he handed the vellum envelope to Gwynneth. "In case anyone asks."

_Asks about what?_ Rumplestiltskin wondered.

"Sorry about the wait," Jeffery said, fumbling through his key ring.

"Should I turn around?" After all, his friend was about to retrieve the magical object on which his entire career depended.

"What?" Jeffery stopped as if sorting out what he'd just heard. Then he laughed. "I think we're past that. If _you_ wanted to steal my livelihood, you could—no matter what precautions I took." Facing his bookcase, he lifted a sham volume, revealing a lock. When he turned a key in it, the books on the lower shelf slid aside and out sprang a large leather hatbox. "There's my baby."

Rumplestiltskin watched Jeffery undo the buckle, lift out his oversized black top hat and inspect it. "Travel-worthy." Holding it by the brim, his friend tossed it, adding a spin so that it hit the floor twirling. Within seconds, the tiles beneath it blurred.

Gwynneth kissed her husband, waved to Rumplestiltskin, and strolled to the door, passing the widening hat without a glance.

_To her this is an everyday occurrence_. Not so to Rumplestiltskin. He'd lost his son Baelfire down a whirlpool of time-and-space just like the one gaping before him now. The memory filled him with dread. He squeezed his eyes shut. _If I ever want to see Bae again, I have to brave it. _The only route he'd identified to the Land Without Magic was a devastating curse—difficult to cast, impossible to _un_-cast. One of the magical realms on Jeffery's list might offer a more practical solution. And once Rumplestiltskin discovered it, he would haul his son back to the Enchanted Forest where he belonged.

Opening his eyes, he saw Jeffery teetering on the edge of the deepening vortex. Where Rumplestiltskin stood, the air remained still. Inside the portal zone, the wind whipping his friend's hair and clothing looked like a purple tornado.

"Time to go!" Jeffery shouted.

Rumplestiltskin swallowed hard and nodded. _For Baelfire. _Clutching a knapsack under each arm, he leaned forward and ran. When he broke the barrier to the zone, he gasped. How could such a roaring vortex not rip him to shreds? Then, just like Bae had done so many years before, Rumplestiltskin jumped.

* * *

The whirlwind set Rumplestiltskin and Jeffery gently on their feet on the black variegated marble floor of a circular anteroom. Three dozen or so doors—no two decorated alike—ringed the wall. _And beyond each, a different world_. Rumplestiltskin inhaled deeply. His friend might be a one-trick wizard, but what a trick it was!

Rubbing his chin, Jeffery scanned the doors ahead of them, then looked over his shoulder to the ones behind. "Ah! There it is. Wonderland."

Rumplestiltskin watched his friend approach the mirror door. When Jeffery reached out, his hand broke the surface as if it were water.

"Come on. The same number must go in as come out—the hat's rule, not mine."

_A wise requirement to build into the apparatus_, Rumplestiltskin thought, hurrying forward and wedging into the shimmering doorway beside Jeffery. Whichever talented ancestor had devised the hat hadn't wanted to upset the balance among the various worlds.

Together, they stepped through.

The first wonder Rumplestiltskin saw was a cerulean sky bedecked with glistening white. Light beamed through the lacy clouds from a multitude of directions, yet he couldn't identify a single sun. The flora around him was even more amazing—unblemished emerald grass as tall as a man and dandelions and thistles even taller. Through it all ran an inviting tile path just big enough for two to walk side-by-side.

Delighted, Rumplestiltskin rubbed his hands together. "This land is well-named. I've never seen anything like it."

"Yeah, Wonderland." Jeffery shrugged. "It gets old _really_ fast."

* * *

Instead of answering Rumplestiltskin, the Caterpillar blew another ring of steam and slipped the mouthpiece of his oversized hookah back between his lips.

Glancing at Jeffery, Rumplestiltskin noted his fellow wizard tapping one foot. He had what he'd come to Wonderland for: large chunks of a magic mushroom, some that could induce expansion and some that could induce shrinkage. Now he was in a hurry to leave for the next land. _Well, let him be impatient. I paid for this trip_.

Rumplestiltskin craned his head back to see the top of the large white-speckled red mushroom again. In the couple of seconds he'd looked away, the Caterpillar's posture had become languid and sleepy. His lower pair of plush-gloved hands rested comfortably on his stomach.

Putting on his most kindly smile, Rumplestiltskin offered a prompt. "This rabbit-hole sounds like a two-way portal. The white rabbit went up it to the Land Without Magic, and Alice came down it to Wonderland."

"Who?"

"Alice," Rumplestiltskin repeated. "The little girl you said visited."

"I know who Alice is. Who are _you_?"

Rumplestiltskin released his breath slowly. Evidently his explanation _another visitor_ wasn't going to be sufficient for eliciting information. He snapped his fingers, disappearing and reappearing atop the mushroom before the churlish larvae. "As I said, I'm a stranger here. You might be interested to know that in my land I'm a powerful wizard known as the Dark One. As you've just seen, I'm a powerful wizard here, too. The final point you need to consider, dearie, is that _Dark One_ doesn't so much refer to what I'm _able_ to do as what I'm _willing_ to do." Lifting his hand, he displayed a fireball pinched between his forefinger and thumb.

The Caterpillar's jaw dropped, and his hookah's mouthpiece fell to his lap. Hastily, he grabbed it and took three gulps of opium.

"This rabbit-hole," Rumplestiltskin continued, "where is it?"

The Caterpillar clasped his three pairs of arms protectively across his chest. "Destroyed. At the Queen of Hearts' command the minute the White Rabbit confessed its existence—before she invited Alice to play croquet."

"What about the mirror you say Alice came through the second time?"

"The Red Queen destroyed that."

"So each trip Alice returned to the Land Without Magic a _different_ way. Where is _that_ portal?"

The Caterpillar straightened his red fez. "She didn't leave by portal. Both times she woke up."

Rumplestiltskin frowned. "She _woke up_? How could she come here physically but then leave mentally? Where was her body the whole time? That doesn't make any sense at all." Glancing over the side of the mushroom, he saw Jeffery giving him a what-did-I-tell-you look. He returned his attention to the Caterpillar. Clearly, the creature had drifted too far into an opiate haze for logical conversation. "Where is this Queen of Hearts? Perhaps I should ask her."

The Caterpillar grinned. "There is no Queen of Hearts. There is no Red Queen nor White Queen, either. After Alice showed us how silly they were, we stopped listening to them. With nobody listening to them, the three took up knitting."

Despite himself, Rumplestiltskin smiled. "No rulers? None whatsoever?"

"Everyone minds their own business. We'll never be so foolish as to bow to a ruler ever again."

Rumplestiltskin tilted his head. "Well, I suppose Wonderland isn't so nonsensical after all."

"_You_ suppose?" The Caterpillar straightened his tinted glasses as if seeing his visitor for the first time. "Who are _you_?"

* * *

The door into Lilliput was painted a green-and-blue wave design. When Jeffery opened it, Rumplestiltskin could see why. At least a mile of ocean lay between the portal and the shore.

"Don't worry," his friend said. "The water only comes up to your armpits."

"Couldn't you have tethered a rowboat here?" Rumplestiltskin didn't fancy slogging through seawater in fleece and dragon hide.

"Any boat that could hold us now would overwhelm us once we reached shore. We need to chew shrinking mushroom as we go so that when we set foot on dry land, we'll fit in."

Rumplestiltskin didn't know if he liked the idea of being thumb size. "If Lilliputians are as evasive in answering questions as the Caterpillar, a threatening height might be useful."

"If you don't mind pulling a barrage of tiny stinging arrows out of your face."

Rumplestiltskin pursed his lips. He couldn't help but admire a people that understood the power of small weapons.

"Besides," Jeffery added. "Nobody's going to sell Lilliputian rope to a giant. And you'll want to buy some. No other land makes anything like it. Don't worry about it being miniature. When the mushroom grows us back to normal, anything we wear or carry will grow as well."

* * *

Back in the anteroom, Rumplestiltskin took another bite of Gwynneth's shepherd's pie and pondered his day. His long-awaited tour had been useful for acquiring loot—magic mushrooms from Wonderland; supernaturally strong rope from Lilliput; green-colored glasses from Oz that blocked sun glare for Cora; and a potion formula from Slumberland for controlling nightmares in the sleeping curse netherworld. But his inquiries had brought him no closer to knowing how to reach Bae.

According to Lilliput's most honored historian, Gumperil six-middle-names Blagus: "A preternaturally violent storm blew Gulliver's ship within our waters. How, nobody knows. Only he was strong enough to surmount the waves and reach our shores. Of course, no Lilliputian has done the reverse." He shuddered. "The Land Without Magic is peopled by man mountains. Why would anyone _want_ to go there?"

According to Oz's H. M. Woggle-Bug, T.E.: "The wizard was a balloonist. A powerful tornado blew him here. Many years later a powerful tornado blew Dorothy Gale's entire house here. To return to the Land Without Magic, she used the Wicked Witch of the East's slippers. Wherever she is, I assume she still has them. She hasn't returned to Oz in decades."

According to Slumberland's Professor Genius: "Only Little Nemo has visited from the Land Without Magic. He came by falling asleep and left by waking up. What else would you expect? It's not like he could come here mentally but leave physically. That doesn't make any sense at all."

Sighing, Rumplestiltskin picked up a knapsack to stow his dirty dishes. He saw Jeffery studying him.

"Why _are_ you so interested in how to reach the Land Without Magic?" his friend asked.

Rumplestiltskin grimaced and shook his head. How could he explain two hundred years of self-recrimination in just a few words? _My son wanted us to live in a world where I couldn't dabble in magic. I didn't. At the last instant, I let go of his hand._

While Rumplestiltskin was still hesitating over what to say, Jeffery relieved him of the painful moment. "Well, I'm sure other lands have had contact, too, but I'll need to ask around. In the meantime, I hope you can tolerate two more destinations today. Both have people who've been asking around for someone like you."

* * *

In Black-and-White Land, Rumplestiltskin stood beside Jeffery on a sloping hillside above a granite façade that formed the mouth of a tunnel. He wasn't sure which marvel astounded him more: the long metal creature snarling down the narrow path toward the tunnel or the fact that it and everything else around him was black, white and shades of gray.

"Hard to believe," Jeffery said, "but that monster was designed, built and powered completely by _natural_ magic. Its purpose is to carry people and goods between towns. They call it a locomotive."

"Amazing," Rumplestiltskin agreed, "to see such a curiosity in a world with no supernatural—" The roar of the machine passing under them drowned him out.

"Not _no_ supernatural," Jeffery amended, "just _weak_ supernatural magic. If it were gone completely, the hat couldn't transport us here. In Black-and-White Land, the supernatural exists on the fringes—werewolves in the forests, vampires in remote castles, the occasional reanimated corpse."

Rumplestiltskin shivered and pulled on his gloves—not just because Black-and-White Land was chilly as Gwynneth had warned but because the thought of encountering a walking cadaver was unpleasant. One of the primary tenets of magic in the Enchanted Forest was _Dead is dead._

Jeffery clapped him on the back and began leading him up the hill to return to the portal. "What Black-and-White Land lacks in magic, it boasts in technology and science. The Enchanted Forest has a few craftsmen that make music boxes and clocks. This place has enormous workshops called factories where hundreds of craftsmen labor together to make huge vehicles that run on steam. Instead of only the nobles traveling from one kingdom to the next, commoners can do it with ease."

"So… no rulers? Everyone minds their own business?"

"Borduria, Ruritania, Zenda, Cagliostro, the Duchy of Grand Fenwick—all have their aristocracy. But the lowly can excel here with invention and hard work—" Jeffery paused "—_and_ a little capital."

"Ah! That's the someone-like-me people here have been asking about." Rumplestiltskin giggled. "Someone who makes gold."

"Well..." Jeffery gave him a sheepish smile. "Because the inhabitants can't perceive color, the unusualness of your… complexion… won't stand out. With the proper outfit, you could blend in. If you poke around a little, you might find something novel you'll want to encourage."

"Perhaps." The possibility of interacting with people who weren't cowering in fear sounded appealing.

Jeffery located the boulder that marked the portal and rapped out the distinctive pattern of taps that opened the lock. "Reliance on natural magic makes this world interesting. I'm sure nothing in the Enchanted Forest surprises you anymore."

Images of Cora's gyrating rainbow flame danced in Rumplestiltskin's head. "Occasionally, something does."

* * *

Florin looked so much like the Enchanted Forest that Rumplestiltskin wondered why Jeffery had bothered to include it on his itinerary. The portal opened in the middle of the capital—which had caused him to be the object of some alarmed reactions until he'd pulled up his hood. Instead of leaving town by the main road, Jeffery led them up a path through fields, pastures, meadows and finally the woods. As they walked, Rumplestiltskin's thoughts strayed to Cora. He'd told her to call upon him the day after next. What was stopping him from calling upon her tonight?

Just as Rumplestiltskin was considering begging off meeting whomever it was Jeffery wanted him to meet in Florin, his friend pointed out a hovel ahead of them.

"There!" Hurrying ahead, Jeffery called out, "Max, Valerie—I brought him."

Rumplestiltskin noted that the front door was off its hinges. Instead of swinging it, the house's inhabitant wrestled it open. Then the white-haired, stoop-backed, rag-covered man leaned the door against the mud-daubed wall.

"Max!" Jeffery called out again. "Miracle Max! How are you?"

When the old man faced him, Rumplestiltskin saw a mischievous intelligence that made the impending introduction seem more promising. Max noticed him immediately despite his cloak and returned a big grin and a wave. Recognizing a fellow wizard, Rumplestiltskin threw back his hood and strode forward.

"So they finally let you out to play."

Rumplestiltskin frowned. "What? Who?"

"Your fuddy-duddy Wizards Council. That rat's ass Sarastro chump. They finally gave you permission to gad about outside your home stomping grounds."

_Permission? C_old indignation stirred inside Rumplestiltskin. As he reached out to clasp Miracle Max's hand, he shot Jeffery a sidelong glare. So that's what was in the mysterious vellum envelope he'd handed Gwynneth—authorization to take the Dark One on a trip.

Rumplestiltskin ground his teeth. If anyone in the Enchanted Forest believed they had the power to authorize or not authorize his actions, then the Dark One had a thousand ways to show them they were wrong.

* * *

**For images from "The Miller's Daughter" episode of Once Upon a Time, **see Katryn Depp's great 2 minute, 42 second music video at youtube**DOT**com/watch?v=xlW79f6_ajk (paste into your browser and replace "DOT" with punctuation).

**For a taste of "dearie," giggling, hand flourishing, and contract conjuring** see youtube**DOT**com/watch?v=gV028Y8asDc (2 min 32 sec).

**For those not familiar with Once Upon a Time**, the major characters come from "The Enchanted Forest," i.e., fairy tale land. Most of these fairy tales are European with a nod to the Orient with Mulan and to the Middle East with the Genie. Despite seeming medieval, Trick of Hearts is playing out at a date roughly corresponding to 1939 in the Land Without Magic (for OUaT fans, my calculation is Cora's 2012 age of 65 minus 45 minus the 28 years she didn't age).


	6. By the Side of a Woods

_**Chapter 6**_

**By the Side of a Woods**

Out the corner of his eye, Rumplestiltskin saw the color drain from Jeffery's cheeks. _That's right_, he thought. _The Dark One answers to no one. _He cocked his head at Miracle Max. "Give us a minute."

"Uh, oh." Brown eyes dancing, the old wizard kept shaking Rumplestiltskin's hand. "Did I let the cat spill the beans?"

_This isn't as amusing as you think_. Rumplestiltskin tightened his grip until the roguish smile began to falter.

Max wriggled his fingers like a fox in a trap. "_A_ minute? Take all the minutes you need."

Rumplestiltskin continued to stare until the old wizard's pupils dilated to fill his brown irises. When his hand went limp, Rumplestiltskin released it. Max fled into his hovel.

Turning, Rumplestiltskin fixed his gaze on Jeffery. The younger wizard waved his fingers as if soothing the air. "I can explain."

Rumplestiltskin could feel darkness welling up inside him. He sensed his mouth spreading and his eyes widening with whatever expression it was that made supplicants tremble. _I'm really going to have to examine it in a mirror sometime_. At the moment it was even making Jeffery shrink back. He forced his voice to sound pleasant—jolly, in fact. "What is there to explain, dearie? This morning you kept me waiting while you hunted for your permit to take the Dark One traveling. In case anyone asked whether the restrictions on me had truly been lifted, Gwynneth had to have the proof ready."

Jeffery hunched his shoulders. "See? I—I wasn't hiding anything. I just wasn't… blurting it out." His Adam's apple bobbed visibly as he swallowed. "And strictly speaking, the Wizards' Council didn't put restrictions on—on you. They put them on _me_."

Rumplestiltskin craned his head forward. His face felt as stiff as a mask. "Why did you let them?"

Jeffery gnawed his lip—letting the question hang between them.

"Don't you think it's a mistake," Rumplestiltskin added softly, "to be more concerned about their wishes than you are about mine?"

Jeffery's mouth fell open. A few seconds passed before words came out of it. "You—you have to know I would never—never ever cross you. I'm fully aware there're _countless_ things you could, that you _could_ do to anyone who—who tried." He clasped his hands to his chest. "But—but _please_ understand... If I crossed the Wizards' Council, I know there's one thing they _would_ do. They'd make sure I—that I _never_ have another portal-jumping customer _ever_ again."

Rumplestiltskin peered at the young man cringing before him as if he'd never seen him before. Jeffery the One Trick Wizard had done the unthinkable. He had favored someone else's demands at the expense of the Dark One. And the reason he had done so was oddly flattering.

"You're serious? That miserable back-patting circle of self-important lackeys would be that _petty_?" _And you trusted I wouldn't be._

"Oh, yes! Thank you." Jeffery looked honestly relieved. "That's the word for _them_: _petty_."

_And by them, you mean Sarastro._ Rumplestiltskin jiggled his head. "This _permission_. Am I the only one who requires it?"

"No. For almost a year, they've been insisting I get it for everyone—and they charge me a _fee_ each time." Jeffery held out his hands. "They have me over a barrel. I'm just trying to make a living for me and Gwynneth."

"And the baby." The thought of the tiny marvel growing inside his friend's belly melted the last of the tension from Rumplestiltskin's face.

Jeffery exhaled slowly. "Yes, the baby."

Rumplestiltskin tilted his head. "No matter. _You_ haven't crossed me." _Sarastro has_. For someone who wanted his signature on an agreement to not take over the Enchanted Forest, that officious Sorcerer of the Sun was making a pretty good show of doing it himself. "Let's try to make all the bother this journey has caused worth it. Though from the looks of this hut, I'll be surprised if your Miracle Max has anything I'd want."

* * *

Miracle Max wasn't shy about what he wanted from Rumplestiltskin. "Gold. What did you think I'd want? I mean, just _look_ at this place."

Rumplestiltskin ran his gaze over the ramshackle house's ramshackle interior. The rickety shelf of spell books, the water-stained charts of the human form tacked to the splintered support beam, and the rusty scale and calipers lying by the washtub suggested that practitioners of the craft lived here, but that they lived here in poverty.

"The times have not been kind to you," he observed.

"You mean Prince Humperdinck hasn't been kind to him." Like Max, his wooly-haired wife appeared frail except for her eyes. When her glance darted to her husband, Rumplestiltskin could tell she was hoping to get a rise out of him.

"Valerie!" Max shrieked. "I told you to never speak that name in my presence!" He resumed shuffling from foot to foot, mumbling through a scroll of potions. The pointed peak of his velvet wizard cap swayed limply. "I'm sure I've got _something_ to strike your fancy."

Rumplestiltskin folded his arms. _I'm waiting, dearie._

Valerie crossed her eyes and continued flitting about with a bedraggled feather duster—swishing it over the jars of pickled bats and pig fetuses, the pewter plates hanging haphazardly on the walls, even the bunches of dried herbs dangling from the ceiling.

When Max dropped his parchment but kept muttering, she jabbed him. "So… offer the Dark One some _magic _already."

Rumplestiltskin suppressed a giggle.

Sidestepping another poke from his wife, the old wizard rifled through the corked bottles and wax-sealed cannisters crowding the wobbly table next to his clay oven. "Aha!" Peeking back over his shoulder, he raised his scraggly eyebrows. "Liver tonic? Huh? Huh? I mean, your skin _is_ kind o' yellow."

Rumplestiltskin shook his head. "Dearie, my skin isn't yellow. It's golden. My physical condition is tiptop. As far as what ails people who call upon _me_ for help, I've never been presented with a problem I can't eliminate… except death—something _no_ magic can do." He spread out his hands. "Other than that, there's little my skills can't already heal."

Max squinted at him. "Tooth powder maybe? Get your whites whiter than white?"

_Really, dearie? _Rumplestiltskin bared his teeth, showing the old wizard just how predatory they were. _You seriously think you can fix these?_

Max gulped. "Yes, yes. To make a deal, I need something special." He squeezed his eyes shut. "I'm thinking, I'm thinking."

After another full minute, Rumplestiltskin glanced at Jeffery and pursed his lips.

Catching his eye, Valerie jerked a thumb at Max and gestured as if pulling out handfuls of her matted white hair. Then she dropped her pretense of brushing off copper ewers and iron cauldrons and banged her husband over the head with her duster. "Quit futzing around with the schlocky potions! This isn't some schmendrick visiting us. This is _the_ Dark One. Show him some _real_ magic."

"Stop hounding me, witch!" Max grabbed the sides of his wizard's hat and pulled it down around his ears.

Valerie growled. Then she wiggled her feather duster under Max's nose. The old man's head began bobbing until he exploded a sneeze so boisterous that Rumplestiltskin fell back a step. Then the old woman fetched a surprisingly clean-looking hankie from the front of her raggedy dress and wiped her husband's nose. "If you don't show him the true love potion, I will."

_Truth love potion. If only. _Rumplestiltskin fanned his fingers. "If you're talking about an infatuation draft or enthrallment elixir, we _have_ those in our land. Since true love must be freely given, by its very definition, supernatural magic can't create it. If you claim otherwise, you're a fraud."

Max broke free from his wife's ministrations, grabbed a wooden coffer off the side table, and stomped up to Rumplestiltskin until he stood nose-to-nose. "Fraud? Then what do you say about this?" He flipped up the lid, revealing a large bottle filled with a pearlescent goo. Inside, a pair of silver fibers shivered and twined.

Rumplestiltskin raised an eyebrow. "Pretty."

"Pretty? This is the power behind every miracle I produce! _Of course_, magic can't _create_ true love. But true love _can_ create magic."

"Liar! Liar!" Valerie shrieked, grabbing the box from Max. "This is _our_ true love. It barely keeps the house warm." She slammed the wooden chest shut and tossed it back on the side table. "Show them the vial sitting on your head. If anyone has a right to see it, Jeffie does. After all, you made it from strands of his and Gwynnie's hair." Yanking the pointy velvet hat off her husband's head, she fished out a second bottle and held it aloft.

The purple liquid inside burned twice as bright as the pearly one. Two golden threads frolicked through it, sparking and fizzing each time they touched.

Staring at it, Rumplestiltskin felt a strange sense of awe. "_Very_ pretty."

Jeffery coughed. Turning, Rumplestiltskin saw bafflement on his face. "You never said anything about making _that_ kind of potion, Max. I'd assumed you were working on some sort of, I don't know, hair loss remedy."

"When you _assume_ you make an _ass_ out of _you_ and _me_." Max stuck his chin in the air. "You gave me those hairs of your own free will. Next time you'll know to ask questions."

Rumplestiltskin's glance strayed back to the glowing purple bottle. "A potion _made_ from true love. What exactly can it _do_?"

"What can it do? Why, anything!" Twisting like a cat, Max laboriously straightened his spine. When he was done, he looked a full inch taller. "True love is the rarest and most powerful form of magic, natural or supernatural. The greatest thing next to a mutton, lettuce and tomato sandwich. Talk about healing what ails you! True love can triumph over curses, hexes, jinxes, even whammies."

Rumplestiltskin shrugged. "Everyone knows that."

"But the power of true love magic has always been limited to the two people who create it. Even worse, only one inconvenient, impractical, cumbersome method has ever been known for wielding it: a kiss."

"Until now!" Cackling, Valerie shook the purple liquid. "Maxie discovered how to bottle it."

The wizard glowered. "Witch! Stop being a buttinsky!"

Valerie leaned forward, whispering _sotto voce_ as if that would keep her husband from overhearing her. "All magic dried up in this neck of the woods years ago. That's why Prince Humperdinck banished us here when he fired Maxie. But little did he know, my bubala had already bottled our true love. Sure, its power had fizzled to a frazzle—but it flickered just enough for him to concoct this _second_ potion_. _With _this_ in the house, he can still work miracles. With the magic of true love, there's almost nothing he can't cure. Why, just last week he brought a man back—not from death, but from _near_ death."

When the first word of flattery escaped Valerie's mouth, Max had stopped scowling. By the time she extolled his greatest feat, he was standing tall and beaming.

Then she added, "If Maxie gets twenty yards away from this bottle, his spells go _pfft_," and he groaned.

Rumplestiltskin inclined his head toward Max. "You've succeeded in impressing me. What's your price?"

"The potion is not for sale." Max grinned. "What I can offer you is the knowledge of how to make it."

Rumplestiltskin arched an eyebrow. _Better and better_. "You'll trade that knowledge for gold?"

Valerie sniggered. "He'll trade _anything_ for gold."

"Perfect." Rumplestiltskin glanced at Jeffery. "When we get home, we'll try it out. I'm sure you and Gwynneth can spare a couple more hairs."

"No!" Max grabbed the hat and the glowing purple bottle from his wife and clutched both to his chest. "If you make a second Jeff-and-Gwynn batch, you'll be stealing the bread from Valerie's and my mouths! You can't just make true love potion by the vat-full. It's more like an assay. If the result is positive, you've got magic. If you run the test again, the second result _replaces_ the first. Only one bottle per couple can sparkle at a time."

"Luckily for anyone identified as truly in love." Rumplestiltskin nodded. "Otherwise they might be plucked bald."

Looking crafty, Valerie grinned. "Surely you know at least _one_ other couple in true love."

Rumplestiltskin flashed a brief smile and looked aside. _That remains to be seen. _Today with Max and Valerie, he'd be the apprentice. The day after tomorrow he'd be the master again. _Cora. _The promise of mentoring her gave him a floating feeling like dandelion fluff on a breeze.

He faced Max. "Somehow, bartering knowledge for gold doesn't seem equitable."

"What?" Max sounded downright mournful.

"Because it's too valuable for that." Rumplestiltskin stabbed a finger in the air. "The proper exchange for knowledge is knowledge. Tell me: do you own a spinning wheel?"

* * *

Max and Valerie opted to spin gold as a double-act—her huddled at the wheel, him waving one hand at the straw to transform it into fiber and the other at the spun thread to coax it into the treasure that could whisk him and his wife from neediness into comfort for whatever years they had left. The proof they'd mastered the trick was merrily rippling off the spindle and piling up on the floor.

Valerie winked at her husband. "With this secret, Maxie, we'll never have to bother with any other magic ever again."

Rumplestiltskin quirked his mouth. Actually, that wasn't true. Once others saw Max and Valerie's good fortune, the couple would discover a need for a lot more magic—spells for erecting a dome of protection, enchantments for securing treasure chambers, maybe even tips for training three-headed hellhounds. _All magic comes with a price_.

Watching the winks and grins the elderly couple threw each other, Rumplestiltskin wondered whether the pearlescent potion might be glowing a little brighter too.

"Remember," he said. "You can only work this magic using _this_ wheel and only when no other citizen of Florin can see you. If anyone enters while you're spinning, any thread not hidden in a bag will instantly turn to yellow twine." He tapped three talons against his forehead. That caveat should protect them from nosy neighbors. But did they need protection from their own greed as well?

"And another thing. Only on the day the lunar phase—" Rumplestiltskin shot a glance up through a hole in the thatched roof where the moon was already visible in the late afternoon sky "—has reached its first quarter can gold be spun from straw. And only when both of you create the golden thread together."

He sidled around behind the couple's backs. Fluttering his fingers, he began embedding the rules in the spinning apparatus itself. He watched his spell create a blue shimmer through the magical aura emanating from the bottle hidden in Max's hat until it saturated the hardwood wheel.

Satisfied, Rumplestiltskin perched his hands on his hips. Those convolutions, challenges and complexities should be sufficient for keeping the old rascals safe and happy.

* * *

Just after the sun had deserted the moon and dipped below the horizon, Rumplestiltskin sauntered up the dusty path from the shack. Questions about true love potion buzzed through his head. Was it potent as a liquid? Would soaking everyday objects in it charm them? Could its benefits be added to tonics? Or was it only effective as a vapor wafting through the air? Could combining it with other magic—say, pouring it into a healing brook—expand its power beyond one tiny house?

Behind him, he heard Max yell, "Watch out for the—"

"—tree root," Valerie finished.

Without conscious effort on his part, Rumplestiltskin's enchanted basilisk boots lifted him over the hazard. Even so, he turned around to nod his thanks for the warning. The couple stood arm-in-arm in their doorway—Max waving with his right hand, Valerie with her left. The sight made him sigh.

Halfway up the path from them, Jeffery looked over his shoulder and repeated his good-byes. Then he jogged up to Rumplestiltskin, stopping a couple of yards away. "I hope this last visit was useful."

"Very." In the fading light, Rumplestiltskin could see Jeffery's smile looked friendly but his eyes held a wariness they hadn't before their confrontation. He felt a catch in his throat. _How can I fix this?_ The only thing he could think to do was put on his most amiable jester's voice and say, "True love. Max found the most powerful source in all the realms when he picked you and Gwynn." He waggled his head and resumed walking.

Jeffery took a long stride and caught up. "That bottle _was_ pretty, wasn't it? But if that scoundrel had told me he wanted our hair to test our love, I'd have said no. What if the result had turned out like his and Valerie's?"

Rumplestiltskin glanced at him. "Their potion _did_ look rather pallid, didn't it? One doesn't like to think age does that to all true loves."

Jeffery shrugged. "As far as Max and Valerie are concerned, I don't think it _was_ age. I think it was Humperdinck. That prince is a real villain. Valerie wanted Max to stand up to him. Instead, he begged to keep his job and was banished anyway. Valerie was disappointed."

Rumplestiltskin's mind flashed on Milah. He knew the pain of watching a wife's love fade because her husband had disappointed her. He walked in silence, waiting for the familiar shame of those memories to subside. _Dead is dead._

With a sharp bend, the path entered the woods. Low-hanging branches of yew trees curved over them, blocking out even the twilight. Rumplestiltskin conjured a single twinkling flame to dance ahead and lead them through. At last he said, "What if instead of disappointing, a lover's actions _satisfy_ the other's ideals—is that what makes the potion glow?"

Sidelong, Rumplestiltskin saw Jeffery frown. "You're asking about me and Gwynnie?"

Rumplestiltskin lifted a shoulder to say, _And?_

Jeffery raised his eyebrows. "Well, Gwynn _did_ ditch her parents' choice for husband at the door to the chapel, jump on a horse, and come riding to find me. And I _did_ have to abandon my family estate when we fled our home kingdom to where we live now. You know, doing all that really made our love feel like _true_ love."

"And if you'd had to slay a dragon?"

Jeffery laughed. "I'd have been fried to a crisp. After the baby is born, her parents are coming to stay for a month. I'll have to thank them for only putting us through trials we could handle."

Rumplestiltskin smiled but his mind returned to the true love potion. _Interesting that mutual sacrifices increase its power_, he thought to himself. _Very interesting._

* * *

Back in the portal anteroom, Rumplestiltskin surveyed the few dozen doors they hadn't opened today. Would one of the magical lands beyond them be the way station that could lead him to Baelfire? He took a deep breath. "Jeffery?"

The young wizard looked up from bundling his purchases.

"I understand why the Wizards Council decided to require travel permits. You've heard about the giants' magic beans?" Rumplestiltskin's mouth twisted. The story was even older than he was.

"I have." Jeffery's eyes lit up. "Legend has it they created paths to other lands. Their roots could dig tunnels into the ground or whirlpools into water. If you wanted to go up, their stalks could grow ladders into the sky."

"Yes." Rumplestiltskin grimaced. A magic bean—the last in existence according to that lying fairy meddler Rheul Gorm—had created the whirling chasm that had stolen his son from him. "Well, the giants used to offer them for sale. That is until some purchasers decided it wasn't enough to do what we did today—visit and trade. If the Wizards Council wants to verify your Enchanted Forest clients don't intend to go raiding and pillaging as some have done in the past, that's one way of maintaining peace among the various lands."

"Nobody on the council ever mentioned magic beans, but what you say makes sense. I'm always asked the reason for travel when I request a permit." As if that was the end of it, Jeffery began looping his Lilliputian rope around his crate of yellow Oz bricks. Something about his manner, though, looked uneasy.

_Hmm_, Rumplestiltskin thought and ambled up to the pile of goods. He hunkered down beside the younger wizard to pack up his own acquisitions. "And with my reputation it's no wonder my permit took so long to obtain."

"Well, considering how _powerful_ you are, the possibility _was_ mentioned that you could conquer and plunder another land all by yourself." Jeffery glanced at him. "I had to keep pointing out the big difference between what you _could_ do and what you _would_ do."

"The Wizards Council was just being cautious. I find that admirable." Rumplestiltskin swept out his fingers for emphasis.

If Jeffery had looked uneasy before, Rumplestiltskin's words made him look downright uncomfortable. "I don't know about admirable. Anytime you gather a bunch of miserable, self-important lackeys into a back-patting circle, well, their motives are likely to _drift_."

Rumplestiltskin leaned forward to stare into his friend's eyes. "There's more?"

"Yes." Jeffery blinked. "It might mean nothing, but I'll let _you_ be the judge."

* * *

**As always** comments are useful and welcome. Thanks!

**Miracle Max & Valerie**: Picture the movie versions played by Billy Crystal and Carol Kane (in really elaborate makeup) in The Princess Bride circa 1987: tinyurl**DOT**com/m92lsdy (replace "DOT" with punctuation).


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